


Alex

by wreckofherheart



Series: Alex [1]
Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drug addict, and her decision. [Alex/Piper]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**1.**

* * *

 

You're high when you receive the phone call.

It's been eleven months. Nearly a year. You pretend to celebrate. Eyes heavy, colours and shapes dancing in every corner, you smile and press your mouth against the crook of her neck. She giggles, whispers your name, then reminds you your mobile is ringing. It's just work, you think. Just stupid work. You don't want work right now; you've had enough of fucking work. But she wants you to pick up; she's smiling and her cheeks are flushed –– she's drunk, she wants you, yet, for some reason, your damn mobile is too distracting.

So you grab the phone. Groan. She kisses your cheek, waits. You try to say something when you press the phone to your ear, but your voice is lost. You're so fucking high. Instead you laugh –– it's a funny laugh, and you realise you just don't care who's calling. If it's work, let them witness you stoned. Like it matters anymore. It won't do your reputation any good, but fuck your reputation. You're done with reputation. What's reputation? A waste of fucking time. You've tried too hard to win, and only lost.

A voice. A man. ' _Is this Miss Vause_?'

You don't know why, but being referred to as "miss" is hilarious. 'That depends who's asking.' You're already bored, the drugs are driving you crazy, and you touch the girl sprawled across your lap. She leans down to kiss you on the mouth, and she tastes disgusting. Dry, a strong, bitter aftertaste. The voice speaks over the phone again. You don't hear. You hate the way the girl kisses, but you kind of like it too. You like kisses that are nothing like  **hers**. You like anything that is in no way associated with  **her**.

Amused, grinning, you ask the man to repeat himself.

' _We have a patient here. She's been asking for you_.'

'Oh.' You know many patients. You know many  **shes**  who have been asking for you. Missing you. Wanting you back. It's so much fun. Running your hands through the girl's thick, brunette hair, you inhale her cheap scent, and she misinterprets this as enthusiasm. Starts kissing you again. Her tongue is demanding, and you suddenly pull away; the man is speaking again.

And he isn't happy. Not with you. No one is happy with you lately. ' _Piper Chapman. Does that ring any bells_?'

There's a bullet. A shot to the head. Then, the earth crumbles beneath your feet. The girl slips from your arms, and you  _fall_. Everything  _breaks_ ,  _rips into tiny, tiny shreds_. Hell's angels  _drag_  you down into the fiery pits of the underworld, and you see  **her**  face.  **Her**  smile.  **Her**  blue eyes.  **Her**  blonde hair.  **Her**  pale skin.  **Her**  happiness.  **Her**  anger.  **Her**  betrayal. You see  **her**  holding your heart, cradling it between her sweet, pretty hands, and she  _squeezes, squeezes_  until your heart  _bursts_.

You say nothing.

(You are  _terrified_.)

' _Miss Vause, I really do think you should come and see her. Piper was admitted into hospital yesterday; she was in labour, and gave birth this morning. She and the baby are fine but she's alone. No family here, and she wants to see you.' He doesn't hang up. 'Will you be able to come down and see her, Miss Vause? She's needs help_.'

The girl tumbles from your lap when you stand. The drugs wear off so fast you nearly collapse. You lean against the wall, try to process what has been said. So much. Too much. You exhale, shakily. You're panicking. You're scared. You don't understand. Confused, you turn to the window. Look at the floor. Everywhere is a mess. Cocaine and heroin scattered everywhere, like snow. Panties that don't belong to you are strewn across a chair. Your bedsheets are dirty.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror.

And all you see is a  _monster_.

'I don't know who Piper Chapman is.'

Lies are sinful. You hate lying.  _You hate_ _ **her**_ _name pass your lips. You hate the_ _ **taste**_ _of her name. You hate_ _ **her**_. You wish this is a nightmare; you wish you'll wake up suddenly. The man sighs. He's disappointed. Like your dead mother. Your head feels heavy. ' _Are you sure?_ '

You've never been sure. You stop. Stare. Piper has been asking for you. The girl –– woman –– you loved, fell in love with, who turned away when you needed her the most. Piper Chapman, the woman who broke your heart, is asking for you. A mother, alone, needy. Is asking for you. You don't want to imagine what the baby looks like, who the baby belongs to.

Something  _cruel_  twists its way up your throat. 'Where's the father?'

Already, you  _hate_  him. You already know his whereabouts, you already know what sort of creature he is, and you want to choke him to death. ' _He isn't here_.' No, of course he isn't. You have stopped believing in fathers, in good men, in daddies who take care of their babies. Fathers do not exist. They are beasts who abandon women once they have had their fill. You know you shouldn't think this, but you consider your mother a victim. And you  _hate_  to see Piper on the same page.

The girl waiting on your bed calls your name. Impatient.

She becomes unnecessary background. Something  _shatters apart_. You snatch your leather jacket, order her out of your apartment. She stares at you in horror; you ignore her, and you ask the man which hospital Piper is staying in. He offers you the address. You hang up. Moan a little. You want some heroin before you leave. Just a quick boost. Help you keep your head up. You don't think you can handle this. You  _can't_  handle this. You can't handle  **her**. The woman.

You consider the child you've never met.

It'll scream when it sees your face. You're barely recognisable. You look like a ghost. Terrible. So, you restrain yourself. You take the baggie, stuff it into your pocket, but don't inhale any. You discipline yourself –– just this one time. The girl has gone. You reach the door, nearly collapse over it. For a moment, you catch your breath. Flashes of  _everything_  cover your sight.  _The girl at the bar, the hesitant touches, tender kisses, wild passion, the gasps and pleads for_ _ **more, more, more, Alex, more**_ _. The doubt, the misery, the fear, the way she turned away, and never looked back at the damage_.

Several choices. You know you don't have to do this. You can stay. Ignore the phone call. Ignore  **her**. Ignore  **her**  asking for you. You feel a  _pinch_. You shiver. Tremble. You think it's the drugs, but it's not. You know it's not. It's just  **her**. Just what  **she**  does to you. When you open the door, step through, nothing feels  _real_. The bannister blisters your palms, your feet  _burn_  against the ground, and you leave, head straight for the hospital, and with each step, the weight on your back gets heavier and heavier.

You should not be driving. But, maybe this is all a dream, so what does it matter if you drive? You drive. You just  _drive_. And,  _oh_ , you need a  _boost_. Your body is  _aching_.  **Screaming**. It makes you sweat a little, makes you freeze, makes you panic. Or, maybe it's just  **her**. The road is winding, ongoing ––  _it doesn't seem to stop_. Until it does. You park the car. Wait. Inhale. Glance to the left. Right. No one is watching. Feverishly, you search for the baggie. You're gasping.  _Desperate_.

––  _ **Don't**_.

Stop, stop, stop. You zip the pocket. Step out of the car. Wobble a little. The hospital  _glares_  at your arrival, and you suddenly feel so  _fucking ashamed_. Whore. Cruel, manipulative bitch. Unloved. Unwanted. The only person who ever cared about you has abandoned you ––  **dead**. You've got nothing left. Your life is a waste, and you know it.  _You are nothing_.

Patients walk past. Doctors hurry onwards. You're invisible. Irrelevant. You're still high. You can't see very well. You say you're here to see Piper Chapman, and your entire body  _stiffens_  at her name. You haven't uttered such beauty in months. Your cheeks flush with life. A nurse escorts you to the ward. Up a staircase, down several hallways. All a blur. You regret not having a boost.  _You need one_. Damn it. Oh,  _God_ , you want a boost so bad, you'd  _kill_  for a quick one.

You smile suddenly. For no reason. Quickly control your expression.

Then, you both meet again.

Your mind  _stalls_. There she lies, looking at you, wide, blue eyes, strapped ––  _chained_  –– to an IV drip, to so many fucking  _wires_. She's tired. Beaten, and so fucking tired. You forget, for a moment, why you ever hated her. She looks so  _lovely_. Pure. Innocent. Real.  _Alive_. You stumble. She moves suddenly, scared you may hurt yourself, and she winces at the sudden action. That annoys you. You walk over, and her body is  _boiling_  beneath your palm. You look at each other.

Neither of you say anything.

There is too much to reveal, too much to talk about. Too many questions, too many answers. Her eyes are so bright,  _it's killing you_. And she studies your face, studies so closely, then she swallows, inhales, because she knows. She knows you're using. But she doesn't mention it. She can't talk about the drugs. She can't talk about the breakup. She can't talk. Yet she needs you, wants you to be here, and, despite everything, you stay. The baggie feels like  _a ton_  in your pocket.

A baby dozes.

Wrapped in white. Small. A fragile little thing. You stare at it.

( **Her**  baby.  **Her**  child.  **Hers**.)

You're here for a reason. The fragile little thing is the reason. You walk past the corner of her bed, approach the tank the baby lays in. It has such small hands, tiny feet, bald, soft head, and there's a teddy bear resting beside it. You don't know what to make of this fragile creature. You feel dizzy. You feel faint. It's probably the drugs. Too much, too much. The baggie  _presses_  against you. You want more drugs. You look at the baby again, turn away, look at Piper.

It's time to talk.

'The nurse keeps asking if he has a name yet.'

 **He**. The baby is a he. You lower your gaze.

'I can't think of one.'

You don't care.

'I know I'm the last person you want to see.' She's guilty. 'But... I didn't know who else to call.'

This makes no sense. She has a family.  
Unlike you.

'Right now, I can't face going home. Not with the child. Will you let me stay with you for a while?'

Finally you're sober. You glare. You remember what she's done to you, how she makes you feel, what she has reduced you to. You can't believe her. How dare she? After leaving you when your mother passed on, does she really expect you to welcome her back with open arms? What's the matter with her? You want to tell her you  **hate**  her. You want her to  **fuck**  herself. You  **loathe** everything about this woman. But your words are lost; you can't speak –– you are speechless.

Because she is  _pleading_. Eyes heavy with burden, fear, dread. She is alone. She has a baby. And she's asking for you. She has all the people in the world to turn to, and she chooses you. Even after all this time, she turns to you, because she trusts you.

Silly girl.

You can't imagine that  _child_  inside your apartment.  _The drugs, the alcohol –– the shame_.

(... you hate yourself, because you still love her.)

Oh, God.

This is so  _fucked_.

Your lungs are suffocating you. She knows you want the drugs, she knows you're  _murdering_  yourself by not taking any right now. She knows you're impatient to get out of here, but she also knows you care, you're considering. If you wanted nothing to do with her, you would have walked away by now. There is so much you want to tell her, so much you want to  _do_  to her, but you stop yourself. For now, there is no time for arguments, for hatred, for  _toxic_  words.

'Yes.'

She shakes. Trembles. Tears. She's close to crying, and you turn away. You can't watch her  _weep_. You can't witness what a state you have both become. A crumbling disaster. Look what you two have done to each other. The baby stirs, but doesn't cry. It scrunches up its face, opens its eyes –– they're blue. The baby sees you, loses interest, falls asleep again. You don't know what to expect.

With  **her** , you no longer have any expectations.

'Alex––?'

You cut her off. Sharp. 'I know.'

Hearing an apology, a thank you, is too much to bare. You'll  _break_  if she says another word. Moving away from the baby, you look at her one more time, take in everything beautiful and wonderful about this woman. And you fall in love all over again. And it's the most  _agonising_  torture you've ever experienced. A Hell you have walked away from, and willingly returned to.

Neither of you say farewell. You silently promise to see her tomorrow. Suddenly,  **she**  and the baby are your responsibility now. You leave the ward, leave the hospital, nearly slip at the stairs, walk into a bin, pull out the baggie, struggle to tip out a little heroin. It scatters across the surface, and you desperately inhale as much as you can before the wind steals the rest. You already feel better. Your body feels warm, cosy,  _disgusting_. And you tell yourself over and over again ––  _you fucked up_.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

* * *

 

The waiting room buzzes with death. You zip up your hoody, drape your hood over your head, and sit completely still. Nothing seems to move, and all you can hear is a child crying nearby. It's a horrible noise; you start to grow impatient. You've never liked children. And they've never liked you. A doctor calls out a name; it's not yours. You wonder why you're here. You don't have to be here; you can leave if you want. Yes, do that. Leave.

But you are weak and pathetic and you stay. Several minutes pass, and someone gasps. You turn your head, and a woman –– your age perhaps –– is looking at you, beaming, shocked. You think she looks pretty, a bit of a baby face, but you kind of like that. Then, suddenly, you recognise who this woman is. The dirty blonde hair, slightly freckled cheeks, winning smile. Jessica Wedge is a lot taller, she has a nice set of legs, but you are not happy to see her.

She comes over too fast. 'Oh, my God!' Yes. It's  _definitely_  Jessica Wedge. 'I can't believe it–– Alex, is that really you?'

More than anything, you want to deny your identity. You are not in the mood for conversation, especially with a woman who used to bully you. Lowering your hood, you attempt a smile, but it's more of a sneer. 'Mm.' Say little. She'll get bored. Walk away. Find another target to pick on. Unfortunately, she's so blinded with joy she sits next to you, eyes wide; her joy makes you feel sick. You don't say a word. You don't like her.

'What are you  _doing_  here?'

Be blunt. Jessica doesn't like bluntness, and you always gave her bluntness. 'My ex has just had a baby. I'm here to take her home.' You want to laugh at her expression. The smile falters, she frowns, blinks, and it takes her a while to make sense of what you just said. Now, she doesn't seem all that pleased to see you. Good.

Then, she says the dumbest thing: 'Is it yours?'

You're tired of stupidity, and you know this question will be heard again and again. So, you  _do_  laugh. She smiles nervously, possibly scared, you don't care. 'No.' This is hilarious. 'You see, Wedge, two women aren't able to breed together.' It's a bitter remark, dripping with hatred, but she thinks you're pulling her leg, she thinks you're joking with her, and her smile returns. She does that annoying giggle, and slaps your shoulder playfully.

'I love how you're still so  _funny_.' Funny. A word which possesses many definitions. 'I'm here because my sister broke her foot.' You shrug. So? Whatever. Like it matters to you. What does this woman want? 'Got to drive her home. Fancy meeting you here!'

'Fancy that.'

'You know, you're so much prettier than you used to be.'

Now  _that_  is funny, because you've never looked worse in your life. You drank too much alcohol last night, snorted too much heroin –– you were  _hammered_ , and the aftermath shows on your face. 'Oh.' It's impressive how she hasn't got the message yet that you don't want to converse anymore. She just keeps on talking.

'What do you do for a living, Alex?'

Don't. Don't say it–– 'I work for an international drug cartel.' Oh, the  _satisfaction_. Jessica stares, raises her brows. You have to laugh again, because her face is a startling reflection to  **hers**. Jessica inhales, smiles, but is quiet for a long time after that. Maybe she regrets talking to you, maybe she thinks you're crazy, maybe she's too stupid to think  _anything_. 'Although I have been  _using_  lately. Not a good thing, by the way.'

'Are you serious?' She's actually  _concerned_. How adorable.

'No.' You roll your eyes. You're  _very_  serious.

Jessica doesn't know how to respond. You wish she'd just  _leave_. 'So, uh, what's the baby's name?'

'What?'

'The baby, Alex. Didn't you say your ex had one or something?'

Oh. Oh, yeah. Piper's baby. You forgot. You  _forgot_. 'She hasn't decided on a name yet.'

'Have you?'

Before you can register the audacity of that question, a doctor appears. He says you can see Piper Chapman now. You don't say good bye to Jessica; you stand and leave immediately. Each second feels like a test: do you dare let this happen? Do you dare let  **her**  back into your life again? Do you  _dare_  let  **her**  child into your life? Selfish bitch. Selfish, selfish,  _selfish_. Your eyelids are heavy, your mind is foggy; everything is distant.

Ugly.

You hate  **her**  for doing this to you. You hate  **her**  for making you care all over again.

Hate.

God. Fuck. Hate –– it's such a fucking  _understatement_.

Piper  _destroyed_  you. Took each tiny piece,  _crushed_  it. That bitch. That  _cunt_. That horrible, horrible,  _horrible_  woman. You deserve better. You deserve better than  **her** ; than this. Look what she has turned you into: a drug addict. A reckless  _state_  of pity. Your wrist stings. Flashes of memory: the injection of drugs flowing into your bloodstream. The gasp, release, how your head seemed to  _open_ , relieve itself from the headache of thoughts.

A baby is crying. Screaming.

Your senses sharpen. You wince. You hate the sound. You enter a ward, and Piper is standing a few metres away, cradling her child, trying  _desperately_  to ease the damn thing. It is relentless, unhappy; something is bothering the child. Piper turns, and sees you, and her eyes widen slightly. She's shocked. Maybe she wasn't expecting you to return. It pisses you off. She thinks so little of you. Heck, you think so little of yourself anyway.

It's wrong. Weird. Piper carrying a baby does not look  _right_. You never saw her as a mother. She's not the type. She can't handle taking care of a child; her own child. Another life. And you can't handle that either. No. No, you have never wanted children. Never  _considered_ them. You live a life only you, yourself, rule. No other creature takes charge; just you. Piper opens her mouth to speak, stops. You sigh. You hate the fact you're already sympathising.

She needs help. She's looking at you for help. You don't want to help. You want nothing to do with the child. Or her. This is a nightmare. Piper pushes herself. She steps closer, presses her child closer to her chest, protectively. 'He won't stop crying.' You glance at the screaming baby. Then her. 'I think I'm panicking too much or something. Apparently babies know when the person holding them isn't comfortable and I think he's figured that out.' She turns her attention to the child, softly encourages him to hush. 'Alex, will you come help?'

It's bizarre. She talks to you as if the child is also yours. You know better. 'I can't do anything.'

Piper looks at you sharply. You nearly flinch. 'Come here.' It's a demand. She's impatient, frustrated, and you reluctantly obey.  _Weak_. She looks up at you, bright blue eyes searching your own. She shakes her head lightly. 'Are you stoned still?' It's sarcastic, but she whispers, just in case anyone else hears. She's paranoid. Frightened.

'Not right now.'

Then you see the baby's face. Scrunched up, red,  _pained_. Piper is so gentle, far too gentle with her baby, and she's obviously new to all of this. She's terrified, and the way she looks at you is too much to handle. You want to look away. 'Hold him. Just for a few seconds.' You frown. No way. You're not holding that child. She seethes. 'Alex, stop acting like an asshole and hold my baby while I fetch his dummy.'

' _I'm_  an asshole?' You scowl. She says nothing, but her glare is fierce, demanding, and she's not backing down. You look at the baby again. Fuck. 'Give me the damn kid.' You're furious with her for throwing all of this on you. It's ridiculous. Completely unfair.

Piper carefully passes the baby into your open arms. The child is surprisingly lighter than you imagined. 'Hold his head.' You balance your hand at the back of his head, your other arm tucked beneath his body, and he rests against you. Suddenly, he's quiet. He ceases screaming. You frown at him, confused, then look at Piper. It's a shocking moment. At first, Piper looks worried, then she steps back, observes, exhales, and goes to get the dummy from his tank. You focus your attention to the baby –– he has such bright eyes, and he's staring at you in awe, sucking on his tiny fist. He gurgles, and his stubby legs move, jolt, and he seems comfortable.

You don't quite know what to make of this. Both you and the child stare at each other.

'I think he likes you.'

Then the baby struggles slightly, and you raise him so his head is supported against your upper arm. He relaxes, and his eyelids slowly shut. He's sleeping. You can't help but feel flattered, a little special. The baby doesn't move, and his round tummy rises and falls as he breathes. Such a small thing. You feel relatively ashamed you never truly acknowledged this baby is a  _person_ , an actual  _living_  person. Not just a baby. He is a person, too.

You look at Piper. She's smiling faintly, but she's smiling at the baby, not at you. It's as if, automatically, the baby is the centre of her everything. Maybe that's not a surprise. Most mothers are immediately attached to their offspring. For a while, Piper seems to forget you're there. You don't feel tense; you feel fine, but you don't want to be holding this baby for too long. After all, it's not yours. It's never going to be yours.

It starts to annoy you –– this neglect. 'Have you been given permission to leave?'

'Yes.' Piper reluctantly averts her gaze to look at you properly. Her smile falls. 'I was too busy calming him down. I'll be ready soon.'

'Fine,' you snap.

'Wait a few more minutes.'

You hate being told what to do, especially by her. 'Be quick, then. I don't want him waking up before we get to my place.'

Due to your mass of wealth, you own several properties, but you decide your apartment is the safest home for the child. He won't be there long, anyway. You'll make sure of that. You continue to hold the child, and he rests, oblivious, ignorant. Fragile. You watch him again, and it's disturbing how easily he can be hurt. You feel a rush of fear. Insecurity, and tighten your grip on him slightly. He stirs a little. Piper is soon ready to leave.

She pulls on a small, blue cotton hat for him to wear. A white cotton cardigan above his blue onesie. He's a pretty baby. Very sleepy. Piper looks at you, and you nod, knowing what she's about to ask. She wants you to keep holding the child. Maybe she's too scared to hold him, maybe she doesn't want him bursting into tears, maybe she's testing you. You feel angry, but, of course, do as you're told. There's something odd about holding a baby, and a baggie filled with heroin in your pocket. You wouldn't mind some of that right now.

Gosh, you  _really_  need some.

It's a wave.  _Constant_  waves. You  _want_  more. You want to pass the child to Piper, inhale as much of that beautiful, wonderful, amazing drug as possible. Fill you up. Consume you. You want the drugs. You want Piper to see what she's done. You're so fucking  _addicted_.

Piper stops as you're about to exit the hospital. 'We don't have a child seat!'

'A what?'

'A seat for the baby. How could I be so stupid?'

'You can hold him while I drive.' You shrug. It's no big deal. Who cares? 'I don't live too far away. Journey's not long.' You frown. 'You do have  _other_  stuff for him, don't you? Like toys and shit?'

'Don't swear,' Piper whispers harshly. 'And, yeah, I do. I just left it at the apartment I'm staying in.' She lets this statement hang. 'Could you go and take it all to yours later?'

Is she fucking kidding? You roll your eyes. 'Fine, whatever.' Useless bitch. You carry the baby towards your car, carefully pass him to Piper, and you both freeze, worried he may wake up and start crying again. But he sleeps on. She sits in the passenger seat. It's exactly the same. How you both travelled together. Piper next to you. Just there never used to be a baby as well. You start the ignition, the engine roars to life and you drive home.

Neither of you say a word.

From the corner of your eye, you glance at the baby occasionally. He has a funny pout while he sleeps, and you're fascinated with his tiny feet. They do look sweet. You notice Piper is watching you. You look at her. It's embarrassing when you both meet each other's gaze. Annoyed, you face forwards again, she to her baby. You're gasping for a boost now. This whole thing is driving you crazy.

You park next to the flat. Piper unbuckles her seatbelt. You don't move. She watches you expectantly, and you want her to disappear. You want to grab the baggie,  _have it_. It's making you so sore, it  _suffocates_  you. God, fuck, damn it. 'I won't be a moment.' Your words barely form. Piper is puzzled at first, then she stiffens. She knows. You glare. 'Piper, get out of my  _fucking_  car.'

The baby stirs. Opens his eyes. Piper  _hates_  you then and there. You hate yourself even more. She slams the car door shut behind her. You're desperate, so fucking ashamed and guilty, and you rip open the baggie, dab a few sprinkles of white onto your fingertips. Lick them clean off. Oh, it's perfect. You need a little more. When you're done, you stash away the baggie, press your elbows against the steering wheel, and exhale, resting your head in your hands.

It starts to kick in at once.

_Light._ _**Free** _ _. Everything eases. All the muscles in your body_ _**slow** _ _, the world dances, and your lips form a smile. There's nothing to worry about. You are fine, just the way you are. There is nothing wrong with you; you're brilliant. You have every reason to smile._

Open the door. Step out. You see Piper waiting, watching you, hating you, loathing you, so  _fucked up_. You don't care. You brush past, the baby starts to cry. Cry so fucking loud. You inhale deeply, and hear Piper's voice as you step into the flat. You turn to her. She's so beautiful. Despite everything, Piper is still so fucking beautiful, so wonderful and lovely to touch. But she's impatient, and she's so scared about her child, and doesn't know how to soothe him.

You're so stupid. You think she wants you to hold the baby again.

Like she'll do that after she knows you've plagued yourself in heroin. She steps back when you approach, and you halt at once. You both stare, amazed, traumatised. Piper is afraid of you. And, yet, she still comes to you. Still follows you. Still needs you. ( _As much as you need, want, love her_.) You turn away, escort the mother and child to your apartment. You've cleaned up. Mostly. No more panties lying around that aren't yours, no more drugs wafting the air. Everywhere is pretty much clean. Neat. Tidy.

A poor reflection of yourself.

The baby needs to sleep somewhere. You take Piper to the bedroom you both once shared. Piper hovers in the doorway. You position two pillows at either end of the bed, so the baby can't roll off. You feel dizzy. Gesture at the empty space in the mattress for her child to lay. You face the window, open it slightly. Raise your hood. Now, you've reached the  _core_. The good, orgasmic part of the drug and it's such a fucking relief.

She's watching you. Waiting. Then she steps away from her child, lying in your bed, and comes closer to you. Whispers, 'What are you doing to yourself?' How dare she? You laugh. She covers your mouth with her hand. 'He's asleep. I don't want you in here like  _this_.'

When she removes her hand, it's a mistake. 'Who's the father, Piper?' Your voice isn't recognisable, and you can't stop smiling. 'Who  _fucked_  you?'

'Alex, shut up.'

'Who was he, Piper?' You shouldn't care. Really, you  _don't_ , but you're high and needy and  _craving_  and fucking  _ **jealous**_. 'Who  _is_  he?' You aren't looking at her anymore. You can't focus your gaze, and she nearly cries.

You fucker.

You absolute  _piece of shit_.

'I didn't think you'd resort to drugs...'

'I didn't think you'd resort to pregnancy...'

Piper is struggling under the weight of your presence. You don't budge. Suddenly, she stuffs her hand into your pocket, reveals the baggie. You feel as if you've been  _robbed_ , try to snatch it off her, but she grabs your arm, drags you to the door, pushes you through. You're high, floppy, useless and she has you. You want the baggie. You want your drugs and when she slams the door in your face, you  _hammer_  your fists against the wood. Yell her name. Swear at her.

Again, and again, and again––

A baby starts wailing for his mother. You stop suddenly.

A baby is crying. You press your back against the door, slowly slide down. A baby is crying. And a mother desperately tries to soothe him, and you wait, sit there, let the drugs corrupt your brain, tingle your mind, twist your senses, and you wait, listen to the crying slow, then stop. A minute passes. Another. You hear more crying. Your mind shuts down, your body stills, and your heart no longer beats, because all you can hear are the soft sobs of a woman who has lost everything.

Something hot scrapes down your cheeks. You frown, run your hand across your moist face, and surprise yourself when you realise what is burning you.

Tears.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

* * *

 

Somehow, you have become a stranger in your own home.

You sit, back pressed against the door. Like a child who has just been punished. You're waiting for Piper to reveal herself, offer back the drugs she  _stole_  from you. She had no right. No  _fucking right_. They were  _yours_.  _They were yours_. Lightly, you tap your fist against the door. Listen out for any signs of movement. You hear nothing. She's not crying anymore. Maybe she's fallen asleep too? Maybe she's wide awake, avoiding you? Maybe she's scared you'll attack her? Your heart squeezes. You nearly vomit.

A boost. You need a quick boost. You scramble to your feet, go to a cupboard in the kitchen, retrieve a small box. Inside are two baggies. You're reluctant to open a new one, but you  _need it_. You can't wait any longer. The baggie is in your hand, you squeeze, it feels good, whole, and you struggle to breathe for a few moments. You're flushed. Cold. You look at the bedroom door, expect Piper to appear, take the baggie from you, and, strangely, you want her to do just that.

Don't do this. Don't do this.  _Damn it_. You have a  _baby_  in the same apartment. No, but it's not your baby. You didn't  _ask_  for this baby. This baby has nothing to do with you. You don't care about the baby. Piper shouldn't be here. She's a stupid girl to be here, to bring her child here, when she knows you're using. Fuck Piper. Fuck the baby. You cut open the baggie with a knife, carefully pour a little over the countertop, and already your body is reacting.  _Yes, yes, yes_. But before you can lower your head to inhale the heroin, the door opens.

You consider ignoring her. You consider taking the drug, like you would have done. You consider yourself. If you don't have this heroin, you won't survive.  _You_ _ **need**_ _it_. Then, you feel her eyes on your back, you know she's waiting for you to decide. You know exactly what she's thinking, and you can't  _stand_  her doing this. This torment, this  _torture_. You don't allow her to judge you. Your hands shake, and you murmur something –– you don't know what you're trying to say. Piper is freakishly quiet, it's  _annoying_  you.

Eventually, you snatch the baggie and look at her.

She isn't glaring anymore, her eyes aren't swimming with  _poison_. She looks so fucking  _young_ , standing in the doorway, a small lump still evident from the pregnancy. It's a shocking ( _disturbing_ ) sight. Your jaw clenches. Piper watches you, and her expression is soft, eyes gentle, expressing a devotion you never thought you'd see again. She looks at you the way she used to. A mixture of fear, concern, and a horrible,  _terrible_  love which suffocates you, makes you  _drown_. There is no surface to gasp for air; you're trapped. Stuck in this prison you've built for yourself.

 _Please..._ _ **please**_ _say something_.

When her eyes fall to the baggie tight in your grasp, the ground beneath you breaks away. She's betrayed, suddenly. Fucking betrayed, horrified. Piper dares take a step forward. You back up against the counter, and she stops. The tables are turned. You're running from her now. Frightened of what she may do. She carries all the guns, shields, knives, and you are defenceless. A waste. Such a fucking waste –– you don't deserve life. You're nothing.

'Stop this.' A whisper.

Your insides  _knot_. 'No.'

'You're hurting yourself.  _Killing_  yourself––'

'I'm only fixing what you broke.'

You've stunned her. Made her feel  _awful_. But she is relentless, 'This is not the way to heal.' You can't handle hearing her voice anymore. You can't handle looking at her, knowing she is not yours, knowing she was so  _cruel_  to you. It's so cold, you're shivering, desperate. You turn away, focus on the heroin scattered across the counter. It's luring you in, grinning, begging, teasing. You have no doubt in your mind that you want this. 'I need you to help me.'

'Oh yeah?' You sniff. Groan quietly, run your fingers through the white powder. 'What about when I needed you?'

'... That's not fair, Alex.'

You remember how much it hurt: when she left. Your body  _bleeds_. 'Nothing's fair.' You sound like a child, a silly child. 'Why d'you ring me? You have  _lots_  of friends, Piper, and a family. You have a mother. Huh.' It's a laugh which lacks humour. It's empty. Makes you  _shiver_. 'Why not go to her? Why go to me? After what you did?'

She says nothing. You want to scream, thrash the kitchen,  **yell**  at her.

You can't  _last_. 'Fucking––' You wheel around, and glare at her so fiercely, you nearly recoil, '–– _answer my questions_!' Instantly you stop, and you're both afraid the baby may wake up. No sound. He's asleep. Oblivious to the hell his mother has walked him into. Piper stares at you, and you're not sure if she's disappointed or guilty or upset.

Keeping up this stoic act is fruitless. She gives up trying. Now, she just looks exhausted, tired. 'You're all I've got left.'

'You never had me.'

That hurt. You feel a  _pinch_. 'After... what happened, with you, I didn't... I  _don't_  feel close to my family. They're like strangers.' It's difficult confessing all of this. You lean against the counter. You can  _smell_  the heroin. 'I know what I did. I know I left you, but...' She shrugs. Pathetic. She  _feels_  pathetic. Your eyes sting with tears, and you fight yourself. '...I didn't know who to call.' Unlike you, Piper is strong enough to cry, let her emotions out. You watch a tear trickle down her cheek. '...I don't know...' She stops, and you inhale suddenly. '...I don't know what to do.'

'Why would you bring a fucking  _child_  here?'

Why bring a child to you? Why let a child share a home with a  _drug dealer_ , and a  _user_? Piper looks away. She knows she's stupid, she's made a mistake, but what else can she do? 'For now, I just need your help. I got fired from my job, so I have no work, and I need––' She has to stop again to wipe the tears pouring from her eyes. '––I need your help, Alex. You can afford taking care of him.' She glances at the heroin, then has to turn away completely so she can cry in privacy.

You feel a wave of heat. You don't know what's wrong, but seeing her like this  _bothers_  you.

'I can't look after him on my own,' she wipes her face with her sleeve. '... and he deserves better than that.  _Shit_.'

The drugs are  _screaming_ for you.

Paralysed with guilt and shame. It's so late, and you're both exhausted. You sympathise. You feel  _fucking awful_. Piper needs your help. She's shown her weakness, she's shown she's not capable, that she is as pathetic as you. She's  _trying_. And you still love her. You  **hate**  her. But you  _love_ her. You've never stopped loving her. This  _ghost_. You face the heroin again, wipe your eyes, exhale. The silence is unforgiving, bitter.

'I need to––' Her voice cracks. She's still crying, '––find work. Until then, please let me keep my child here. He has nowhere else to go.'

Your heart  _shatters_.

Tiny, tiny pieces. Crushed.

Piper  _needs_  you. She is  _pleading_. She doesn't want forgiveness, she knows she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't want your love, she knows she doesn't deserve it. She just wants a chance to give her child a proper life, a home, a mother who is stable. Suddenly, it's not all about Piper anymore. She isn't thinking about  _herself_. She's thinking about her child, and it's scary, the immediate change in character. You don't know what to think.

'Okay. You can stay.' You clear your throat, watch the heroin, as if afraid it'll wash away. 'But I'm not changing. I still work for the cartel, Piper, and I'm still going to use. You are a  _guest_  in this house. Give me back my drugs.'

And when she carefully places the baggie beside you on the counter, you feel close to bursting into tears. Her submissive nature is  _agony_. You clench your fists, scrunch your eyes closed, and wait until she enters the room her son sleeps in. When she's gone, you gasp, and tears effortlessly fall. The heroin grows moist, and you quickly inhale what you can. It's all gone so fast, mastering your senses, nerves, emotions, until you're numb again.

You let the drugs take you. You avoid the bedroom the child sleeps in. You stay away. You collapse onto the settee, sit, stare at nothing, and so many wonderful things happen to you. Your mind erases the pain, the woman, the child, and you suddenly fall asleep. You don't dream; there are no nightmares. There isn't anything. You sleep for hours, until somebody starts nudging you. Already, you feel dreadful, you want to vomit, you're dehydrated and hungry––

'Alex?'

Slowly, you open your eyes.

Then you hear a baby crying. Screaming in the next room. Piper is looking down at you, and is relieved when you wake up. 'Remember I said all the baby equipment is at the apartment I'm staying in? Could you go and fetch it all? I need to feed him, change him –– while I do that, can you go and get his toys and clothes? They're all packed away.'

What? You rub your eye, frown. She gets impatient. Hands you a slip of paper and a key.

'This is my address. Please be quick.'

She's gone, rushing back to nurse her child. You struggle to stand, and lose balance slightly. Two baggies wait for you on the counter. Piper hasn't moved them, hid them, when she had every opportunity. You don't know why, but this disappoints you. You expect better from her. You know you shouldn't drive while high, but you always need your morning boost. Just a small dose. Not much, but enough to wake you up.

You take one of the baggies, store the other one in the cupboard. Look into your bedroom. Piper is cradling her baby, slung over her shoulder slightly, bouncing him up and down gently while he cries. He's not hungry; he's already been fed. You don't know what's wrong, and you hesitantly step into the bedroom. Piper whips her head around to look at you. You shouldn't be here; you should leave, get the belongings, but you want to know if the baby is okay.

Maybe she registers your concern, or maybe she wants a distraction from the truth. Maybe she's just scared, because she says, 'Babies usually cry. I'll figure out what's wrong with him. Can you  _please_  fetch his clothes, Alex?'

You nod. Adjust your glasses. You're a little nervous. Not sure why. You approach the door, but just as you're about to unlock it, you hear a knock. You aren't expecting visitors. You open the door, and a woman is standing there, arms folded, furious. You step through, hold the door ajar and raise a brow at her. She smiles sarcastically.

'Your baby is making an absolute racket. Do you want to stop it crying, or I shall I help you?'

Something  _twists_  in your stomach, and you nearly  _punch_  her. 'I think if the baby saw you, he'd cry even harder. Fuck, man, even  _I'm_  tempted to  _cry_  at the sight of your fucking face.' You hear footsteps, the baby's cries are louder. Your heart drops when you realise Piper has come to see what the fuss is all about. She looks between the two of you, then at the woman.

'Babies  _cry_ ,' she snaps. 'It's what they do. I'm trying my best to keep him quiet, but he's not even a week old, and I've not done this before, so back the hell off.'

You turn to the woman. Feel a sense of pride you haven't endured in months. 'Come back here again to complain, I'll give you something else to complain about.' You mean that. You're fucking  _certain_ , and the woman is astounded, stumped, and she swears at you, before walking away. You look at Piper, she looks at you.

No words are shared. But she smiles a little, and you think you smile back, but you're not sure. All you see is the baby and her, and it's a beautiful picture. She turns to enter the apartment again, and you close the door, locking it, as if afraid someone might barge in, disturb them. You feel an urgency, a strong possessiveness, a protective trait you haven't felt since you were last with Piper. Suddenly, those two are your responsibility.

And maybe that's all right. You don't know, but maybe that's all right.

It's cold and you lift up your hood. You drive to Piper's apartment, which takes half an hour. You're surprised her place is so close. Is this deliberate? You unlock the door to Piper's room, step inside, and it doesn't take you long to find three boxes piled together, marked "baby stuff". There's not much in her apartment. Dishes that need washing up, blankets strewn around, CDs, a few books. You pack the car with her boxes, and return to lock the door.

Then you decide to bring some of Piper's clothes back too. You pick out her favourite jumper, a few t-shirts, some trousers. The clothes smell like her. You press her jumper to your face, the cotton is soft, you inhale her scent, and it's exactly how you remembered. You eventually leave. Your throat is sore. You have some heroin before driving back to your place. The baby is no longer crying when you return. He's asleep.

Piper whispers a thank you when you bring in the boxes, and is speechless when you reveal her clothes as well. You start to regret your generosity. You feel like you've wounded yourself. She hurt you, remember? The reason you're clinging to heroin constantly is because of her. Why did you bring back her clothes as well? Why do you still  _care_  about her? What the fuck is wrong with you, Alex? Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Your mobile starts ringing.

She busies herself with emptying the boxes. You answer the phone. It's work. You need to travel to New York. You hate New York. A package to deliver. One of your mules can help you. They love that stuff. Same old, boring crap. You hang up. Piper hasn't finished unpacking, she's returned to her child, and he's sobbing. Uncomfortable. Impatient. Frustrated, and you don't blame him. You throw your mobile onto the settee and step into the room.

'Have you eaten?'

Slowly, you fix your gaze on Piper. The question is bizarre. 'No.'

'You should eat.' It's a soft, gentle push. She doesn't mean to nag; she's taking care of you. You roll your eyes. You don't need to be taken care of.

'Not much to eat here.'

'I know. I looked in your fridge –– all I saw was gone-off milk.'

'Oh, that's been in there a while.'

'You're gross.'

And, for some reason, you both laugh at that. There's nothing particularly funny about the out-of-date milk, but you still laugh anyway. It's nice to laugh, it's nice to laugh and mean it. 'I'll buy some shit later today, then.'

'Don't swear in front of the baby.'

'Oh.' You forgot about that rule. You watch the baby, writhing a little in his mother's arms. He is so small, and sweet. 'Sorry.' And maybe you're not just apologising for swearing, but you're apologising for the drugs, the lack of food, what an awful environment this is for an innocent child who has done nothing wrong.

Piper gives you one more chance. 'Would you like to hold him?'

Yes. You do. You've wanted to hold him for a long time, it just never occurred to you. A short nod. Piper passes her baby over, and when you take him, it's as if you've signed an agreement. A promise. This baby isn't yours, but it needs your help to survive and even if you're a waste, even if you are  _owned_  by the drugs you sell, this baby looks up to you as an adult. You're an adult. You're not a child, not a teenager, not a woman who likes to mess around with other women. The world is no longer your fucking oyster, Vause.

You are mature enough to realise that now.

He stops crying immediately. As always. He's soothed when you hold him, and you don't understand why. It's worrying, actually, that he doesn't cry when you hold him. Maybe he does like you. Silly kid. What's there to like? You don't get the whole doting thing, but you hold him anyway, balance his head with your hand, keep him steady, and he easily falls asleep. It doesn't take much. You don't have to do anything.

Piper is smiling. Possibly in relief, possibly in surprise.

Or, possibly, because she's happy.

As much as you wish it, you doubt the latter. The baby continues to sleep. 'Have you thought of a name yet?'

'No,' Piper replies. Thinking of a name makes things too real; thinking of a name is too  _complicated_  right now. You don't push the subject. She lowers her gaze. 'I didn't know him.' The father, the man she slept with, the irrelevant creature, the waste of space. 'At all.' You're not sure why she's confessing this, why it matters. She's watching her baby doze, in your arms. Warm in his blanket. 'He was there, I was feeling down and...' That's all she needs to say.

He's a nobody.  
He doesn't matter.

You forgive her for that, even though it isn't your place to.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

* * *

 

'I have a job interview today, and a handful of resumés to hand out.' There's a folder of them tucked under her arm. She's dressed in a white blouse, black skirt. Smart. Eager to impress. 'For obvious reasons I can't take the baby with me.' She wishes she can. She doesn't necessarily want to keep the baby here with you, but she has little choice.

Fortunately, you catch on. 'I'll look after him.' The kid seems to shut up whenever you hold him, so he shouldn't be too much of a hassle. Only problem is that you've never changed a nappy before, plus you'll have to bottle feed him, and he may not appreciate that. Piper knows you're inexperienced, hence her reluctance. She also knows about the drugs, the fact you're addicted, and that she can't trust you. 'He's safe with me.'

She's unconvinced. She looks at you in distaste, and you stop talking. You give up trying. You roll your eyes, and watch as she approaches the child sleeping in his carrier seat. He's snug in his blanket, a small fist protruding from beneath. He still has that funny pout, as if he's unimpressed with what's around him. You don't blame the kid. You're not that impressed either. Piper adjusts his blanket carefully, gently runs a hand over his soft scalp.

You're fascinated in how she dotes him. How she makes sure he's okay. She  _mothers_  him, and she mothers him well. She'll be late for her interview if you don't convince her soon, and you don't want her losing this job. But you don't know what to say. You're so fucking worthless. A lousy junkie. She brushes away a little sleep from his cheek, and straightens to look at you again. You say nothing; you've said everything you can. It's up to her.

It's hard to fathom what she's thinking. You think she must hate you –– you kind of hate yourself too. A lot. You're offering to watch over a child, and you can't even watch over  _yourself_. She knows there's a baggie stuffed in your pocket, she knows only a few minutes ago you had one of your "boosts". She thinks you need to grow up. She does not like this side of you. Piper is studying you, waiting for you to reassure her, waiting for you to lie –– " _I won't take the drugs around him_." But you can't lie, not to her; you've never lied to her.

But who else can she turn to? She came to you for a reason. Piper looks at her baby, then back at you, frowning, thinking. Scared. 'I'll be an hour.' She doesn't want to be long. She wants to be back as soon as possible. You nod. She checks on her son one last time, glances at you, and you feel a rush of shame, guilt. Heavy burden. 'You've already made him milk before. If you need to change his nappy, then look in the bag.' She points towards a blue rucksack leaning against the wall. Piper brushes past, and you're left alone with the child.

You have a little job to do. You fling on your jacket, pull the rucksack over your shoulder, hoist up the baby carrier and as you approach the door, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You've never carried a baby before –– not like this. It's bizarre how you appear, a carrier in your arms, bag filled with baby shit over your shoulder. You leave the apartment, lock it, and then hurry down the stairs, towards your car.

Carefully, you strap the baby in, sit in the driver's seat. Glance at him. He still sleeps. You realise his hair is growing –– blonde. More out of curiosity than anything, you lean over and softly stroke your palm over his head. You start the ignition, and you drive a little slower than usual. Your destination isn't too far away. You're meeting someone there, an old "friend". You can imagine what he wants to ask, what his concerns are. They're about you.

It's a nice place where you're meeting him. A bar/restaurant, and the barmaid is great. You know her a little, and she likes kids. Loves them. She'll come in handy. You arrive, and you're extra cautious when you retrieve the carrier. The baby opens his eyes and you raise your brows in surprise. You weren't expecting him to wake up, but you're happy when he does. His mouth is shaped like an "o" when he looks up at you.

'Your mother used to look at me that way.' You smile at your own joke, and hold the carrier close as you enter the bar/restaurant. It's not busy at this time in the afternoon. The odd customer. You don't notice. You approach the bar, and the usual lady is behind it. She comes over, a skip in her step and is confused to see the baby.

Brushing back her fringe, she frowns at him, then you. 'What is this?'

'A baby.'

'Yeah, I can see that, Vause.'

'I do hope it's not yours.'

You turn to the voice. Fahri is watching the child with a little smile, but you're not fooled by his expression. 'He,' you correct him, 'And, no, he's not. I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of our team,' you pat the baby seat. 'He tends to sleep on the job a lot. Apart from that, he's quite charming.'

'Hilarious, Vause.'

The barmaid is beaming. 'He is  _so_  cute.' The baby looks at her, and pulls a very concerned face. 'Hey there, sweetpea.' She's gone, lost in his cuteness, and babyness. 'Can I keep him?' Already, she's busy unbuckling the straps so she can hold him.

'No. For the next half an hour you can, though.'

Overjoyed, she gently picks up the child and he nestles neatly against her chest. You're pleased he doesn't cry, but his eyes instantly latch onto yours. You nod once at him, as if trying to reassure him you're not going anywhere, you're staying here, and you're not sure why you bother. He can't understand you. He's just a baby.

'Can I get you anything, Alex?' She asks, half distracted by the baby.

You shake your head, turn to Fahri, and he's not smiling anymore. Both of you are experts at identifying junkies; it's how you're able to run your business so well. He only has to glance at you once to know what's going on. It's been eleven months, and you haven't seen him since Piper left, since your mother died. Maybe that's just as well. You're better than you used to be, but you're still dependant, still addicted and it's impossible to shake off.

At first he doesn't discuss your addiction. He discusses work. What future plans he has, and you suggest improvements to his plans, better ways to network, travel –– which destination is more suited. You're at the top of your game; the drugs don't effect your intelligence, and he seems relatively relieved about that. As if on cue, the baby starts crying when you've both finished the conversation. The barmaid can't silence him.

You look at the child, and he's looking at you, wailing, uncomfortable. He isn't happy, and you stand, gesture to the barmaid to bring him over. As soon as the baby is in your arms, he settles, 'It's all better now, little man.' You don't hear yourself. Don't see yourself. He ceases crying, and you wipe a few stray tears with your thumb. You're not aware of anything around you. His eyes are so startling, so blue, and you always thought it stupid when people say the baby looks like their parents. But seeing him now––

Well, he  _does_  look like her.

'Do you use around the child?'

You look at Fahri. You're insulted, but whenever you're insulted, you tend to laugh a little. 'No.'

'I'm glad your father didn't take care of you,' he says, and you frown, shocked he mentioned that man. 'It's not nice living with an addict. God knows what you would have turned into if he took you in.' Fahri stands up. You're frozen in place. You know what he's implying. You don't want him to continue, but he does. 'The only difference between you and him, is that he had the decency to let you live a normal life. It's not nice to burden the kid with your problems, Vause.'

He isn't being cruel. He's just sharing some advice, giving you insight, but you're upset. You don't want to be compared to your father. You––  _you will not be compared to your father_. You and he are  _nothing_  alike.  _Nothing alike_. Possessively, you hold the baby a little tighter, look Fahri in the eye, dare him to say more, but he's said enough. He smiles at you, a kind smile, and then walks past. As soon as he's gone, you feel a  _rush_.

A need.

You know what for.  _The heroin is waiting_.

 _Don't. Don't. Not around the kid_. Your arms shake a little, but he feels so safe and protected in your arms; he doesn't seem to notice your slight discomfort. Damn it.  _Damn it, kid_. You can't burden the child. Fahri is right. You can't do that to someone so small and innocent. Yes, your mother had to take care of you alone, but at least you didn't have your fucked up old man looking after you as well. Fuck.  _Fuck_! What the hell are you doing? What the fuck is the matter with you? Why are you letting this happen?

You want the heroin. Badly.

'Okay, okay, okay.' You gently return the child to his carrier. Strap him in. The barmaid says her farewell, you barely acknowledge her. Piper is trusting you. Piper is  **trusting**  you to not take the drugs. Fuck, don't.  _Please, please, don't take the drugs. Don't give in_. Your eyes water. You curse lightly, and you're so fucking careful with the baby. You strap him into the car, start the ignition, the engine rumbles, the car vibrates, waiting.

Waiting.

The baby is silent. You realise he's watching you. Awed.

He, too, is waiting for you to make a decision. It's as if the baby knows what's wrong. You shrug, helpless. Look away. Pinch the bridge of your nose. You're sweating, breathing hard. It's been too long since you last used. You stuff your hand into your pocket, retrieve the baggie, and the baby makes a noise. You look at him again. He doesn't notice the baggie, just you. Then, suddenly, he smiles. You freeze instantly, the baggie nearly falls from your fingers.

You have to smile back. 'What're you smirking at, kid?'

Gurgling, he reaches out to hold his foot, presses it against his lower lip. He makes another noise. You exhale, lean back. You want the drugs. You  _need_  them. You can't live without the drugs. The baby makes another noise, then yawns. It's a long yawn. Sleepy. You watch his eyelids slowly close, then you focus on the baggie. You can take them now. No one is watching you; the baby is asleep. You'll only have a small dose. Not too much.

Fuck. Your mother must be so fucking ashamed.

 _It's not nice to burden the kid with your problems, Vause_. You swallow back a cry. The anger, frustration, guilt forces you to open the baggie.  _Worthless. Worthless._

 _ **She doesn't love you**_.

Piper is a stranger. She doesn't like you. Hates you. You wish she doesn't hate you; you wish she wants you back. You wish she loves you. Because she's all you have left. All you've ever had. And she doesn't want you; she abandoned you.  _ **She abandoned me**_. You  _can't_  forgive her. You hate her for doing this to you. This is her fault. This is her fucking fault. Fuck.  _Fuck_. Oh, God,  _kill me. Kill me. I don't deserve to live. I don't_ _ **want**_ _to live_.

You are unloved.

Unwanted.

An alien.

How does it feel?

You want your mum.

It can't be simpler.

You dab a little powder onto your fingertips. Do nothing. Stare at it. A tear trickles down your cheek, and you're so fucked up. If you take this drug, you'll never forgive yourself. You can't take this drug, with a baby sleeping right beside you. A baby who trusts you, feels safe around you, who  _smiles_  at you. And he has such a lovely smile, why would you break that? Why would you ruin such a beautiful gift with your own greed?

Then your phone alerts you. You have a text.

For a moment, you're stumped. Here you sit, heroin on your fingertips. Someone has contacted you. You swallow. Stop. Breathe. Close the baggie, wipe your fingers down your trousers, and pull out your phone. It's a text from Piper.

_Meet me in the coffee shop down the road from where you live in fifteen. Can't remember the name. But I like the look of it. Is he okay? P_

He. The baby. You tap out a reply:  _He's swell. Sleeping. I'll meet you shortly. The coffee shop is called Starbucks, Piper_. You instantly receive a response.

_I knew that. Was testing your memory. Take care of him. P_

The conversation ends. You pocket the phone. Look at the baby. You're still overwhelmed with desire to take the drugs. Your hands are trembling. You can't drive like this. That's a fact: you cannot drive in this state. You're suffering withdrawal symptoms. You're horrified when you realise you don't have a choice. You get the baggie, inhale a little heroine, and,  _oh_ , it feels so, so, so good. Your hands stop trembling, your body is in your control.

You sigh. Happy. Once it's all settled in, you drive.

The baby sleeps.

When you arrive at the coffee shop, you ignore the fact you've betrayed her. You ignore the fact you took the drugs. The baby stirs when you park the car. He stretches, yawns, then looks out of the window, apparently amazed. You want to hold him. Not sure why, but you want to hold him. You leave the car, then open the door to him. Lean in, unbuckle the belt, then the straps, and gently lift the child out of his seat.

You hold him close, and he lays above your arm, your other hand balancing his head. It feels good to have him like this; you want him to know you're here, you're okay. You may have taken the drugs, but you didn't have a choice. For some reason, you think it's important that he matters still, that he knows you care. It doesn't make any sense.

He's fascinated when you enter the coffee shop. Eyes wide. You search for Piper, and see her in the corner, standing up, walking over. She wants to see her baby. You pass the child over, and he doesn't cry. He's fine. Piper holds him, examines his face for a short moment, then looks up at you. 'Thanks,' she says. You don't respond. 'Would you like a coffee?'

No. You don't, but–– 'I'll buy you one.'

'Can you ask for some warm milk too?'

'Yeah.'

She offers a little smile, returns to her seat. You order the coffee, warm milk and join them. The baby is asleep again. Piper doesn't bother with the warm milk. You pass her the coffee. She doesn't drink it. She isn't interested. 'Has he been okay?'

'Sure,' you reply. 'He's a good kid.'

Piper looks at you. 'Have  _you_  been okay?'

Lie. You wish you had bought a coffee now. Just to distract you. 'Coped.'

She knows what that means. Looks at her child. Then back at you, frowning. 'Did you use?' She whispers, and she's serious, she's willing to yell at you if you confirm. You watch her, and you're a little afraid. Angry, too. She has no right to ask.

But you  _were_  watching over her baby. 'A little.'

' _Alex_.'

'I  _had_  to. I––' You shake your head. Do you honestly expect her to understand? 'Piper, I had to. You have no idea what it's like.' You don't want to look at her, see her judge you, hate you. 'I–– I wouldn't have been able to drive him here.'

'You could have walked.' Then it hits. She widens her eyes. 'Where did you  _go_? I thought you'd stay in your apartment while I–– Oh,  _God_.'

Now you start to panic. Stupid. 'We didn't go far. I just had to––'

'I'm such an idiot.'

'––meet someone. He was sleeping the whole time. He was fine. We were fine––'

'What the hell.'

'––He's  _fine_. I wouldn't put him in any danger.'

Piper cocks a brow. 'You don't even know what danger  _is_ , Alex.'

'I'm trying.'

'I don't want him with you if you're going to...  _use_  around him.'

You remember Fahri's words. About your father. And about you. Your insides tighten. 'I won't. I promise. I won't use again.' She frowns. 'I mean... not around your kid.' She holds your gaze. She's not happy. You're both fucked up. Morons. You feel awful. Fucking awful. You have to change the topic. 'How did the interview go?'

She moves away from you. You're hurt, but you realise she only moved away so she can reach into her bag for something. 'I have a shopping list. For you.' She gives you a sheet of paper. 'I'm going back to the apartment with the baby. You can get the food.'

Your upper lip twitches. 'Quit bossing me around.'

'Someone needs to. You're a mess, Alex.'

'I don't think you can tell me that. After everything.'

She has to stop herself. You want to know what she wants to say, but she restrains herself. Hesitates. 'I'm only doing what's best for you, all right? I already have a baby to look after. I don't need  _another one_. So cut me some slack.'

'Cut  _you_  some slack? I wasn't the one who got pregnant, and then threw half the responsibility at my ex.'

'You know why I called you.'

'Right.'

'I just expected you to take this responsibility more seriously.'

You look at her, disgusted. 'He isn't my kid, Piper. He's got nothing to do with me.'

That's not true. You regret saying that. He does have something to do with you. Somehow. You like the kid. And he likes you. That must mean something. Piper doesn't scold you. She runs a hand over her baby's head, makes sure he's comfy. Your raise your hood, lean back, fold your arms, feeling pathetic, childish, silly. Weak. Ill. The world is a very dark place right now. There's nothing to cling to. You're alone. You're alone.

'... I'm sorry...'

Time slows. Stops. Halts. You can't look at her. That voice, so soft, meaningful,  _sympathetic_. Piper knows exactly what she's done. She knows why you're such a fucking disgrace. And she's sorry. She's  **sorry**. You blink. Think maybe that her apology is a few months late. Maybe it's too late for an apology altogether. The damage has been done.

You whisper. 'I needed you. Back then. You were all I had.'

'Alex...'

'You broke my fucking heart.'

It's too much to bare. You remember the first time you injected yourself with heroin, the first time you claimed a baggie as your own, the first time you collapsed. The memories flashing in your brain, covering your sight,  _every second wasted over her_. The women you fucked for no reason, the women you kissed and bit, and  _wanted_ , just to get rid of  **her**. Nothing worked. The sex didn't work, the alcohol didn't work, the drugs didn't work.

_Look at us._

_Look how fucked we are_.

A baby starts crying. Without realising, you've turned to the child, and he's hungry. Piper adjusts him properly so she can feed him. There's an empty baby bottle waiting to be filled. You know what to do before she asks. Once it's filled with the warm milk, you give it to her. She feels too guilty to say thank you. You sit. The baby suckles greedily, closes his eyes, and calms down. After a while, Piper looks back at you. You look at her.

There are so many things to say.

'Do you want to feed him?'

It's an honour. You hesitate, then nod. Piper manages to place the baby in your arms, you hold the bottle, and he continues as if nothing has happened. A small hand touches the bottle, and you like to watch him. It's soothing. He's relaxed, happy. You wonder what that must feel like. Piper comes closer, rests a hand against your arm, and she, too, is watching the baby. Then her eyes are on you again, and you make the mistake of looking at her.

The control you once had over this woman is lost. You can't even try anymore.

 _I'm sorry_.

She knows her faults. You know your own.

Neither of you leave. You stay, and so does she.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**5.**

* * *

 

You will never forgive yourself for what comes next.

Food. You hate the sight of it. The drugs have ruined your appetite. You rarely eat; you've lost so much weight, it's disgusting. You barely recognise yourself anymore. You read Piper's shopping list, though; buy what she recommends. It's comical how you're not taking orders from  _her_. No longer are you the master, no longer are you in charge, in control. You're weak, dependant, and pathetic. You're a sight to be ashamed of.

The car waits. You pack the food into the boot. When you're sitting, you  _need_  a boost. You've been dying for one. Your body has been  _wailing_  for heroin, and you've nearly collapsed, fucking desperate,  _hungry_  for that hellish, white powder. You lick your dry lips, unwrap the baggie, and expertly sprinkle some over the dashboard. You glance right, left, then snort it all in one go. It's a lot. You close your eyes, lean back against the seat, exhale.

For some reason, you think about the baby. Who the father is, and you don't know why it suddenly matters. You don't know why you're suddenly thinking about Piper being  _fucked_  by a man you've never met. You don't know why you care. You don't. You don't care. What happened to Piper is none of your business. She doesn't have to tell you. It is not of your concern. You don't care.  _You don't care, you don't, you don't, you don't care_.

You reverse out, and drive onto the main road. The drugs start to hit, and it's a beautiful, wonderful sensation. It feels amazing; so fucking good. You don't know how you survived without the heroin –– the best girlfriend you ever had. Haha. Funny. Because even the best girlfriend can  _fuck you over_. You grip the steering wheel tighter. Try not to think about Piper, the baby. Just what the fuck has happened? What the fuck?

Too much, too much. You've had too much heroin. You feel so light, like you're flying; it makes you smile, and you sigh, content. Everything is fine.  _You_  are fine. Piper is fine. The baby is fine. Everything is going to be absolutely fine. You have nothing to worry about. You nearly laugh, because it's ludicrous why you were so bothered before. Ah, who cares if Piper slept with somebody else? Who the fuck cares if Piper doesn't love you?

Your mobile is ringing. You check the road. Continue driving onwards. Answer. It's work. You listen to who's on the other end, and it's an order, a request, and you're bored because you've done this sort of thing to death. You confirm you can deliver, but you have a lot on the list right now; he'll have to wait. He understands, and you hang up. You pocket your phone, but it slips from your fingers, falls to the floor. You curse, so floppy and dizzy and––

The entire car  _ **crashes**_  into something hard, heavy, and there's a terrible stench, a skid. Your body is flung back, the seatbelt cuts into your skin; screeching, a scream. Your head is pounding, soaring. Your eyes open. You've been unconscious for a few seconds. Your vision is hazy. You inhale suddenly, rest for a moment. Blood. You can smell blood, dripping down your temple.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip_.

Someone is yelling. 'Are you okay?!' You want them to  _shut up_. You have such a horrible headache. Your arms are aching. You can't move them. Oh, wait, you can. You blink, open the car door, unbuckle the seatbelt and fall out of the car. Your back hits the tarmac. You can hear a baby screaming, crying, and you jolt upright. There is no baby. No child crying. You realise it's your mind playing. The baby isn't here. The baby is safe with Piper.

A heavy hand presses onto your shoulder.

'Hey! Miss? Miss, are you okay?'

'I have to get home,' you mumble. You look at the car. Squint. You can't see very well. 'Fuck.' You wince. 'Where are my glasses?' You look down at the ground, can't find them anywhere. There's so much fucking blood. You wipe your face, red liquid stains your sleeve. Now, you're getting angry. You have food to deliver. Piper needs to eat, the baby needs to eat.  _You fucked up, Alex_. 'Where are my glasses!?' There's a man holding them for you.

You say nothing. You're pissed off. So pissed off and upset. You're high. Stoned, and the world hates you. Civilians crowd the scene. Fuck. You don't know who you drove into. You don't want to know; you don't care. You want to go home. You pull on your glasses, everything is clearer. The bleeding has slowed. Your car has a  _huge_  scrape across its side. Like large claws have shredded the metal. You open the door to your car. The same man rushes over, gently urges you to stay far away from the vehicle but you shrug him off.

He suggests you stay. You tell him to go fuck himself. He steps back, gives in. Doesn't try handling a stupid junkie. Fucking junkie. Fuck.  _Fuck you, Alex_. You're already driving away. Reverse back. A part of your car clatters onto the tarmac; you leave it behind. Eyes barely open. Get home. Just get home. When you return, you don't park very well. Your car is in at an awkward angle, but you don't bother correcting it.

God. You want more heroin. Mm, and it's good, it's good, flowing through you ––  _heaven_. You fucking asshole. You leave the baggie in the car, stumble out, limp towards the flat. Take the lift to your floor. Ignore the concerned look a woman gives you. You're bloody. A mess. High. Half conscious. And angry. Angry at yourself. You hate yourself so fucking much. You can  _never_  take care of the child. You will never be able to.

You can't even look after  _yourself_. You can't even buy yourself food. The baby can't be with you; that's not fair. Fahri was right ––  _you are becoming your father_. Before you enter your apartment, tears are already stinging your eyes. The drugs aren't working like they should. You topple against the wall, and you hear Piper hurrying over, voice quiet, 'Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God–– Alex... Alex, look at me, Alex, Alex?' She's holding your face. There's blood everywhere. 'Alex, what happened? Why–– Why–– Alex, what happened?"

 _I am worthless. I am worthless. I am worthless_. You grab her wrists, pull them away. Piper follows you to the bathroom. You turn on the shower. Peel off your clothes, one by one. Jacket, t-shirt, trousers, bra, panties and she asks you again, and again––

What happened? Why are you like this? Oh, God, you need to go to a hospital. Alex, what happened to you? You can't––

You tell her to fuck off. You  _scream_  at her, and you're acting like a child and she's stunned, horrified, scared, hurt. The water is hot,  _scalding_  your bruised body. You wash away the blood, and she leaves you in privacy. There's a huge cut across your scalp. Ugly. You are  _hideous_.  _You will never forgive yourself_. You stand in the shower for possibly an hour. Maybe half an hour. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe five. The blood disappears, you step out, grab a towel, dry yourself. Pull on your trousers, a clean t-shirt.

Piper is brave and stubborn and wonderful and  _loving_  to return. She is concerned, worried, and you want to  _hurt_  yourself. Slap yourself. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve to be worried over. You are such a fucking waste. God.  _Fuck, oh,_ _ **God**_ _, what have you done?_  She wants to know. She's pleading, and it shouldn't matter what happened to you. She steps further into the room, closes the door, and now it's serious. You're not getting away.

'Why won't you talk to me?'

'I don't wanna talk to you. Not about this, not about what happened.'

'Did you have a car crash?'

'Piper.'

'Were you high?'

'Please,  _please_!'

'Alex, what are you doing? I can't  _stand_  to see you this way.'

'It isn't my fault. None of this is my fault. Fuck...'

'You're hurting me, Alex. You –– doing this ––  _hurts_  me.'

'Why–– Piper, don't cry. I don't want you to cry.'

'You're going to kill yourself. You're going to–– Listen to me! Please, stop doing this. Give up the drugs. Let me help you. I want to help you. Like you're helping me. We can work through this together, okay? But, please, Alex, please, stop taking the fucking drugs.'

'I  _need_  them. Piper, go away,  _go away_!'

'Don't yell at me.'

'Stop  _crying_.'

'I can't–– I can't–– I––'

'Why did you come here? Why did you call me? Why did you bring your fucking brat here? What the hell's the matter with you? I'm only like this because of you. You  _left_  me! You left me when I needed you. You fucking left me, Piper. You  _left_  me! You can't just waltz back into my life when it suits you. I–– You're gonna leave me again sooner or later, so just–– Just leave me now so we can get this over with. Fuck,  _leave me the fuck alone_!'

She is crying. Weeping. And she isn't holding back. Tears  _pour_  from her eyes, and you've  _broken_  her. Completely destroyed her, and she has  _nothing_. You don't know if it's the drugs, the baby, the shock, or  _her_ , but you cry too. You wipe your eyes, try to calm down, but when you hear her sob, you can't  _stand_. Your knees buckle. Your head empties, there's a blankness, a state of  _pain_  and  _tight, twisted agony_. Your heart is so  _sore_. Bleeding.

_Stay with me._

_Stay with me. Stay with me._ _ **Stay with me**_.

You can't live without her. You want to tell her this; you want to be open, honest, but you can't. You can't trust her, and she can't trust you, and you love her so fucking much. It's all fucked up. It's all  _so fucked up, you can't breathe, you can't speak, you can't do anything_. You nearly died today. You nearly died today.  _You nearly died today_. The crash comes back, a rush, and you're shocked, horrified, petrified, and you gasp, press against the wall.

Seconds pass. Minutes. Eventually, Piper stops crying. She's at the door. You run a hand through your hair, clench a fist, and you're useless––  _Please don't leave_. Despite your toxic words, you don't want her to leave you again. Not again. You don't want her to abandon you again.  _Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me_. Piper looks at you. She's still recovering from your outburst, and you want her to hold you. It's a moment in which you are fragile and needy, and you want her to hold you, love you, remind you that you  _are_  necessary.

Piper is about to speak. The calls of her child stop her.

Then, she turns around, leaves, but doesn't close the door. It's a message; she hasn't left. She's staying. After every shitty thing you've done, she's staying. In fact, you realise, she wants you to follow. You both need to grow up. Realise what's important. It's no longer about you and her. Her and you. Piper and Alex. It's more than that. You have to consider another person now –– the child, and even though he isn't yours, you  _have_  to consider him.

It was your decision to.

He wants you to hold him. You don't refuse when Piper passes the crying baby over. He's a little heavier, and he still continues to sob when he's in your arms, but he's settled slightly. He just wants attention, wants to be loved, wants to be important, wants to be comforted. You lift the boy up against your shoulder, and his small fist rests against your cheek as he looks around him, your hand balancing his head. He doesn't know you and his mother have fought, doesn't know you've just been in a car crash, and his ignorance is wonderful.

When Piper gives him his dummy, the boy is content and happy. You hold him to you, affectionate, protective, and he likes you, doesn't judge you for every fucked up deed you've done; he likes you. He doesn't cry when you're holding him. You feel special. You haven't felt special in so long. Piper runs a hand over his head, and then leans into you. She hugs you, embraces you and the baby, and she's trembling, shivering.

You're sorry.

You're so fucking sorry.

But you're okay. The baby is okay. Piper is okay. This tiny family you've found is okay. And that's enough. That's all you care about.  _That's all you care about_. It's a shock, a surprise, and you're taken aback. You're amazed. Astonished. It finally hits, it finally  **hits**. What matters, what's important, what you must  _see_  and  _notice_. This  _gift_ , this  _treasure_  you have been granted –– is  _yours_. Alex, you have her, you have him.

It's all up to you now.

Time is up: you will quit the drugs. For the baby, for Piper, for your mother, and for yourself.

You tell her this.

Piper kisses your cheek. Soft, sweet. She hovers a little, hesitates, and when you turn to look at her properly, she moves away. You're flooded with warmth, your heart races, and you remember why she affected you so. Why you love her. The baby sleeps. Neither you or Piper have set up his cot yet. You both need to get your act together.  _ **You**  need to get your act together_. He sleeps in the middle of the mattress, but instead of two pillows stopping him from rolling off the edge, you and Piper protect him, you're both his wall.

He sleeps peacefully. Quietly. It's too dark. You can't see Piper's face properly, and you wonder if you should be looking at her. You wonder how she feels, what she's thinking. You wonder what will happen next. About the drugs. About you. About him. About her. About  _we_. You're scared. You're terrified. You will quit the drugs.

You will quit.

Piper grabs your hand,  _squeezes_. She isn't going anywhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

* * *

 

The ceiling is cracked. You're not too keen on this apartment; it's old. Unused. A place to hide. It's early. Very early, and you can't sleep. The sun has already risen, but you aren't motivated to stand. Start the day. You want to remain in this bed forever, wrap yourself under the sheets, shield yourself. There's no point in living. You promised to quit. You  _promise_  to quit. Is that so wise? What happens next? How can you be so foolish? You  _can't_  quit.

Because, already, you're  _desperate_. Your body is tumbling. Your fingertips are itching; you want the drugs, and your head is heavy. You feel neglected, sore. You need your drugs. But you're so fucking afraid of moving. You know if you move, you'll head straight for the heroin. You should stay in bed. Lock yourself in a room, rot away. No one will care if you disappeared. No one will care. Starve yourself,  _kill_  yourself, because you can't live without the drugs.

They have stuck with you. They have been loyal. They have kept you alive.

You can't  _abandon_  them.

When you turn your head, you see a baby. And his eyes widen when you look at him; he's surprised you're awake. Then he smiles, beams, shakes his fists, excited. It's bizarre. His eyes are so bright, blue and filled with energy.  _Bursting_. You make him happy. He is smiling  _at_  you,  _for_  you, and  _with_  you. He isn't smiling about anything else. Just the simple fact that you are awake, and he isn't alone; that you remember he exists.

Suddenly you have a reason. Suddenly  _he_  outweighs the drugs. He is more important. He isn't yours, but  _he is_. You feel a rip, a  _shred_ , and when you smile, it's a sad smile, because you think ––  _you poor boy_. He has no idea what a vindictive  _bitch_  you are. He thinks you are an angel, something so wonderful, his heroine, and he enjoys your presence; he sees you, and all he sees is the good. He doesn't notice the drugs, how ill you appear. He doesn't notice how cruel you can be –– he just sees you the way you wish to be seen. A person. A  _real, living, emotional_  person.

Piper stirs. You tense. The baby looks around at his mother; he smiles wider. Piper grins, kisses his sweet forehead, looks at you, and her eyes soften a little. You think. You think, maybe, this sort of life is what you want. Maybe. Maybe this is okay. Maybe. You don't know. You don't know what you want. There's something apologetic in Piper's eyes, something tender; she wants to say so many things. Far too many things, but she doesn't know when to confess. Neither do you. You're both messed up,  _trying_  to manage together.

You both know what's going to happen. She knows you want the drugs, she knows the only reason you haven't gone straight for them is because of the baby. All because of the baby, you remain here. You're  _forcing_  yourself. But you can't lie here forever. You aren't that strong. Soon, eventually, your mind will collapse, your body with give in, and you will go  _insane_. It's frightening; terrifying. You may die. That's a possibility. You may hurt someone.

The last time you felt this afraid was when your mother passed away. You need Piper to lean on, slap sense into you. Yes, maybe she had no right to call you at the hospital, maybe she had no right to advise you about the drugs but,  _fuck_ , you are lucky. You are lucky she's come back. Her reasons aren't clear, but you know, for a fact, you are fortunate. And you can't waste that away. Not this time –– you've wasted everything good in your life before.

Don't ruin this.

Piper and you do what mothers do. Get the baby ready for the day. He needs a nappy change, and Piper is still new to this, like you, but she seems to know her way around. Then, you prepare a warm bottle, dress him in his blue onesie, and Piper gives him his teddy. And he sleeps. But as the hour passes, the heavier you feel,  _time ticks_. It's all a little sudden. All of this. You need a distraction. Piper helps you unload the shopping from yesterday, and it's so fucking  _domestic_ , normal; you've never done this before. You're not good at the whole family thing.

Too fast.

It  _ **hits**_.

The world is very cold. No matter which room you step in, you're  _freezing_. Yet you sweat, and you're trying to breathe properly, but your lungs feel as if they've  _collapsed_ , and your throat is dry, eyes are watering, nose is running. You give up. You don't know where the baggies have gone. You can't remember if you told Piper to get rid of them for you. You can't remember much.  _It's okay, it's okay, it's okay_. Piper will be okay, the baby will be okay.

You're sitting on the sofa. The baby sleeps in your bedroom. Piper steps inside, and she wraps a blanket around your fragile, shivering body. She removes your glasses, presses a hand against your forehead, biting down on her lower lip –– worried, maybe a little afraid. You realise this is nothing. This is just the beginning, and you dread what happens next. Piper sits beside you. Silence. She looks away, possibly in guilt. You're fucking exhausted, so cold.

Heroin.

You want it.

Right now.

 _Right now_. Right now. You want it, want it. You're going to die if you don't. You  _need_  the damn drug, and Piper  _must_  understand. But you restrain yourself. You use everything in you to  _not demand the drugs_. You have to keep going. Fuck, it's only the afternoon; you haven't  _done anything yet_. You can manage. You  _will_  manage. You will.

Somehow.

'Remember when we went to Greece, and you were sick the whole time?' Piper is smiling a little, looking at the floor. 'You blamed it on the shrimp I allegedly  _forced_  you to eat.' Oh, yeah. You remember. You remember that very well, and you laugh shortly. She grins. 'I took good care of you.'

'Mm,' you cock a brow. 'Got even better when you dressed yourself as a nurse.'

'Hey––' Piper shoves you playfully, '––I was trying to cheer you up. You're so grumpy when you're sick.'

'You were a sexy nurse.'

'I  _know_.'

'D'you still have that outfit?' Piper gives you a look. You smile crookedly. 'Shame.'

'Well... you can  _imagine_  me wearing it.'

'Nah, it's not the same.'

'Fussy.'

'... Missed this. You.' No, you shouldn't have said that. You don't want to peel yourself away, open yourself to her again; you don't want to be vulnerable in front of her, but you can't stop yourself. You have no choice. You just  _are_  with Piper.

Her expression softens. You glance away. 'I missed you a lot as well.' She looks down at her hands, fiddles, 'I wouldn't––' She exhales. You look at her. '––I wouldn't rather be with anyone else.' You feel a flush of heat. It's discomforting. You're in a lot of pain. 'He might have a father, but––' She shrugs. '––He's irrelevant,' she exhales, 'Completely irrelevant. We slept together, dated for a little while, then he lost interest.' She shrugs. Maybe she's trying to show how much she doesn't care. 'Of course he dumped me before I knew I was pregnant.'

You sigh. Your hands are shaking. Your eyes are heavy. 'Want me to kill him?' Then, you smile. 'I may be a junkie lesbian suffering withdrawal symptoms, but I got a couple of tricks up my sleeve.' Charming. Or, you're trying to be, or maybe you're trying to brighten the mood. It seems to work, because she smirks when you laugh. You're not jealous, but you do hate the idiot. You hate him for fucking Piper over, because she doesn't deserve that. Not after your bullshit. You sniff, exhale. Your head feels blocked up. Piper gives you a tissue. 'Thanks.'

Piper is quiet. You blow your nose, wipe your watering eyes. Then she comes closer, and encourages you to lean against her. Once your head rests against her chest, you realise how sick you really are. You're so cold, dehydrated, dizzy, lightheaded, and you want the heroin. She runs a hand through your hair, and it's soft, gentle. It soothes you for a bit, but you've become impatient. You don't feel good. You feel uncomfortable, and as much as you love her holding you, it's not enough.

When her hand stops at your cheek, you close your eyes, inhale, and it hurts to breathe. She's trembling, and it takes you a moment to realise she's crying. Everything collapses, falls apart, and you open your eyes, stunned. Piper says nothing. She sniffs at one point, grabs a tissue, wipes her face. You know why she's crying. You know why she's in so much agony, and you feel even worse. Being a mother is no easy task, especially when you're alone.

But you want to be there. You're trying to be there.

Can you survive this, though?

The hour ticks past. You're so fucking cold. Piper moves, and you instantly cling to her top, but she isn't going far. She's reaching over to get another blanket. She drapes it over you, holds you, but you're so, so, so fucked up. Oh, God. Fuck. No. No, you're not comfortable. You need to move. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.  **Drugs**.  **I want the drugs**.  **You want the drugs**.  **You must have the drugs**. Your mind is shutting down, your hearing is numb; you can't  _feel_.

You sit upright. Piper doesn't move.

A pause.

Suddenly, vomit spurts from your mouth. Piper flinches. You don't see what she does next. You throw up again, and your throat  _stings_ , the vomit is hot, fiery, prickly, and disgusting. You lean forwards, vomit again, and it's aggressive, violent. Two warm, soft hands pull back your hair, then one rubs your back, and you throw up again, sudden, your body  _heaves_ , and it feels as if your chest has split in two. Your eyes are watering, nose dripping, and the entire room  _stinks_.

'Alex,' a whisper. You're finished. She kneels down, wipes a flannel over your mouth, stained cheeks, chin. You see the mess you've made, widen your eyes, '––It's okay, it's okay. I'll clean all of that up. You need to lie down.' Your hand finds her top, you pull her close.

You want the drugs. You're going to  _cry_. 'Don't–– whatever I do, Piper, don't give me the heroin.'

'Okay.'

'Please don't give me the heroin.'

'I promise, I won't give you the heroin.' Her hands slip from your face, arms wrap around you, she's hugging you, and you can't move. You're limp. You can hear noises. So many noises, voices you don't recognise; you're mad. Raving mad. You're insane.  **Drugs**.  **Give me my drugs**.  **My drugs**.  **My drugs**.  **I want my drugs**. You need that boost, that refreshing  _air_  of  _freedom_. All the pain and revolt and betrayal is coming back.

She takes you by the hand.  _Alex, stand up. I need you to stand up_. You can't see. You can barely keep your eyes open. Your body is out of your control; you don't know what you're doing, and you start to panic, you're so fucking paranoid. You don't know what's happening to you. Don't like the fact you're being  _watched_. Somebody –– people –– are watching you, they want to hurt you, kill you. They are  _everywhere_. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.  _Are you okay? Come on. You need to lie in bed, stay warm. You need to drink something_.

You're aching all over. Your muscles feel as if they're ripping apart, your nose is runny, so runny, and you find this really humiliating, embarrassing. The cramps start. You don't know where they come from. Your stomach  _bursts_. You moan, sweating, hot, cold,  _so fucking cold_ , you can't stop shivering. Piper is close, you can't see her. You smell her sweet scent, her warmth, everything beautiful about her, and you're annoyed, wanting, needy, frustrated. Fuck, you're so annoyed. Paranoid. Nothing makes sense. It's all such a blur. Nothing makes sense.

The mattress feels like  _daggers_  beneath your back. You're tense. Your stomach hurts so fucking much, and you wince, keel over, forehead moist, and you want––

––your  **drugs**.

 _No, no, no, not my drugs, not my drugs, not my drugs. Don't take the drugs. Not the drugs. Ah, the drugs, the drugs, I love the drugs, I want the drugs, haha, I want my drugs, oh, fuck, give me my drugs. Yes? Give me my drugs. Go to sleep. Go fast to sleep. Sleep, sleep. It'll all go away. It'll all be okay. Just go to sleep. Sleep, sleep, yes, sleep_.

Another blanket. You don't realise you're refusing water. The glass hits your teeth when Piper shoves it to your lips, and you swallow a mouthful of liquid. It tastes awful. Bitter. Another mouthful. Your stomach is about to rip apart––

 _Stop_. You push the glass away, she says something, you can't hear her. You groan, you can't breathe; it feels like knots are forming,  _tightening_  inside. Your breasts are sore, your tummy is bruised, and you check your stomach in case there's any blood. Nothing. It's all in your head, perhaps? Calm down.  _Calm down_. Piper's lips are at your ear, hands running down your back, she wants you to rest, and you lean your forehead against her shoulder.

Don't leave me.

_Al, I can't be your girlfriend anymore._

_Yeah, and apparently not even my friend._

––  _please don't leave me_.

You shove Piper away. She's everywhere. Wiping your forehead, holding your arms, gently pushing you back. A baby is crying. Your muscles tense, your head  _splits open_ , and your heart is about to  _explode_. A baby is crying. A baby is crying. You don't want the baby to cry. Something's wrong. He wants to be held, he wants attention, he wants to be fed.  _You want the baby to shut the fuck up_!  _Stop crying_!  _Stop, stop, stop crying, please,_ _ **shut the fuck up**_!

Piper leaves you.

Abandons you.

She disappears, vanishes, and you collapse. The baby stops crying after a while. You roll onto your side, cling to the blanket, curl into a foetal position, shiver, murmuring, crazy. You're crazy, crazy, crazy. You close your eyes, stay still, stay absolutely still. Maybe you sleep. Who knows? You wake up, it's dark. It's dark, and you're annoyed, angry. Why is it dark? It was light not a moment ago. What's happening? Why is this happening?

 **Drugs**.

You try to reach for the glass of water.

 **A boost**.

Your fingers slip.

 **Heaven**.  **The taste of that sweet, wonderful, erotic** ––

The glass smashes.

 **Yes**.

You're still. Mouth ajar. Staring at the mess.

 **Yes**.

Cold. So cold. So very cold.

 **Yes**.  **The drugs are yours**.  **You must have drugs**.  **Must have drugs**. You deserve them. Yes. Yes, you deserve them. You've been through so much  _shit_. Piper is a horrible, horrible, horrible  _witch_. How dare she take your drugs? How dare she be so cruel? You deserve better. You deserve  _more_. She wasn't there when you needed her, but the drugs were. The drugs  **are**. Don't betray the drugs. They deserve better than that. Oh, God, what? What?

How did you stand up? You have no idea, but you're standing, hobbling towards the door, blind in the darkness. The light is on in the lounge. You stumble over, the carpet is red, so fucking red,  _wow_ , it's  _amazing_  and  _red_. Too red. You can't see. You feel something tickle your throat. Goosebumps form across your arms, back, legs,  _ahhh, fuck_. You're  _freezing_. You consider getting a blanket, then realise you're already wearing one.

**... I want my drugs...**

Yes. Yes, the drugs. Get the drugs. You can't live like this. You're so scared, so cold, you're dying. Your heart can't take it. Your lungs can't take it. Flashes of  _everything_  come to mind: for some reason, you're thinking about Jessica Wedge, what a bitch she is, fucking  _bitch_ , and her freckles, horrible words.  _Well, fuck Jessica Wedge_! Freckles? No, she doesn't have freckles. She has slightly darker skin too, shorter blonde hair, blue eyes–– oh.

You can  _smell_  the heroin.  _Fuck_. 'Piper?' You topple a little. 'Piper!' Where is she? Where's the baby? Where are they? Has she gone? Has she left you again? No, no, no,  _ **don't leave me, don't leave me, please don't leave me, fuck, fuck you, fuck**_ _._ 'Piper?!' Everywhere is so bright. So fucking bright. Alex, what are you doing? What––  _What the hell's wrong with me?_  You roll your eyes back, inhale deeply, and you are certain now. You must have the drugs.

'What are you doing?'

 _Her_. Piper. You stare at her, 'A little–– just gimme a little–– just a small––'

'I need you to sleep––'

'––I need––'

'Alex––'

'No, Piper,  _please_ , you don't understand––'

She's holding your hand. She's in charge. She's certain,  _glowing_ , beautiful. You need  _her_. 'You don't need them, Alex. I promise you. You don't need them.'

'I  _do_. Just a  _tiny_  amount. Just–– small amount.'

'Please. Please, let me take you back to bed. You're  _freezing_ ––'

'Piper––'

'It's okay. You're okay––'

'Please give me the drugs.'

'No, we agreed––'

'Piper.' You shake your head, your head is splitting in two. You're panicking. Angry. You  **hate**  her. 'Give me  _my_  drugs.'

She's scared. You realise she's fucking scared. Tears are swimming in her eyes, and she makes no attempt to wipe them away. You think, why does she bother staying? Why doesn't she  _leave_  you? The baby deserves better. She deserves better. They need to leave you alone. They need to leave you alone. Piper's hand is on your cheek ––  _so hot_. It burns, like fire.

_Listen to me._

_Listen to me._

_Give me my drugs_. 'Piper!'

'You'll wake him up––'

'Piper, give me my drugs! They're mine! I need my drugs,  _fuck, fuck_ , give my  _fucking_  drugs!'

'Shh, Alex––'

'Fuck you.  _Fuck you_.'

The baby is  _screaming_  nearby. You snarl. Hating it. Hating her. Piper steps back. She chooses the baby over you. She has to comfort it. Has to take care of it. You're irrelevant. You come second, and you're jealous, envious of the brat. How comes it wins? How comes you've been thrown in this shit and  _it_  wins? You fucker. You  _fuck up_. No. No, Piper is  _yours_.

She's holding the child, cradling it. You enter the room, furious,  _so angry_ , and she backs away into the wall. She's made a mistake, she's made a mistake, she came back to you because she trusts you, because she needs you and she knows she's horrible and a bitch, but you mean  _everything_  to her. She can't walk away. She can't. Neither can you. God. Oh, God. Stop. Stop. Stop scaring her, stop what you're doing. Leave her alone. Leave them alone.

But they are your drugs, and you need them more than anything in the world, and you can't  _manage_ , fuck, give me my drugs––

'Piper!'

The baby wails.

You storm over, see the baby, and it's staring at you,  _crying_ , weeping,  **terrified**.

Of you. It is terrified of you. He is terrified of you, upset with you,  _disappointed_. He doesn't  _recognise_  you, he has no idea who you are. You are not Alex, you are not his mother, you aren't anything. You are a monster. A creature from  _hell_ , and you step back, step further back. The child won't stop crying. You can't see Piper. You  _can't look at her_. You don't want to know if she's crying too, if you've made her cry. Oh, God. Your upper lip twitches, you turn away––

You can't stop the tears rolling down your cheeks. You're desperate, gasping for air. You walk into the kitchen. Open a cupboard, search frantically for heroin. Look everywhere you can. You tip over table, fling cutlery across the room, chuck away your books,  _you search, and search_ , but find nothing. It's all gone. You're trapped. You're going to die. You're going to  _explode_. You're going to  _rot_. Good. Good.  _Rot away_. You stop, flinch; you can't erase the image of the baby, of the little boy, scared, screaming, bursting into tears at the sight of you.

Piper. You think about her. You think about what you've done to her ––  _you manipulative, awful, awful woman_. You despise your existence, and you fall. Your back hits the wall, you slam your head against the heavy brick, and you cry. It's all you can do. You cry because you've hurt Piper, you've  _hurt_  her. She left you for a  _reason_. She left you because you are  _dangerous_ ,  _awful_. She left you because you are not  _safe_ , and she left you, not because she didn't love you, but because she was afraid. You scared the woman you love, you  _continue_ to frighten her. It never stops. A constant cycle you're incapable of breaking. You want her back, want her to smile again.

...  _I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you... and I'm sorry..._

You vomit.

The baby isn't crying anymore. You want to see his smile, too. His smile is so lovely, like hers; you adore that smile, you love that smile––

––you want your drugs.

'Alex...?'

You can't look at her. You're so ashamed.

'... baby, come on. Come on.'

The drugs aren't here. They aren't here. There are no drugs. You are not getting the drugs. You will not get the drugs. You don't need the drugs. You must not have the drugs. You must not have the drugs. You must not have the drugs.

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Breathe, breathe_ –– you see the child, her.

All that matters. Counts.

You're tired. Sleep.  _Sleep_. You're going to be sick again. You're not sure. You can't be sure. You can't be sure of anything. Piper's arms are around you, she's guiding you somewhere, the settee. You can't go up the stairs. You're not able to. You collapse. She wraps the blankets around you, and you can't survive, you know for a fact you won't survive this. Your teeth chatter, and you want to know where the drugs are, even though you can't have them.

Maybe you want the baby, and you want Piper. Just those two.

You don't know. You can only see his face, as you lay there, shivering, clinging to the blanket, trying,  _trying, trying_  to breathe, trying to keep going, trying to wait this  _torture_  out. You are trying, and you are trying for those two. You are trying.

But, sometimes, your mind falters. You think what's the point? Piper leaves. She has to check on her child, and you want her to stay away. Because you don't deserve her affection, you don't deserve her forgiveness, and you dread the next few days. You need help. You need help. But, what's the point? What is the point in trying for them?

You see his face. His screaming, tear-stained face, his terror.

 _The boy hates you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no control over what I wrote –– it just wrote itself, and, no, I've never had withdrawal symptoms. Beforehand, I researched heroin withdrawal, and this is what I produced. This story is fucked up. Really fucked up, but, I'll be honest, I've wanted to delve deep into Alex's mind for a while. Maybe I'm fucked up myself, but what I write is what I honestly think of her. She's human, emotional, and even though she works for the cartel, she's just trying to succeed. Sometimes, when people do bad things, it's usually for a good reason. Alex is far from perfect, and her life has not been easy. I don't think you can escape writing about her in depth without your story being a little dark and twisted.
> 
> The most traumatising events have passed. I'm pretty sure, anyway. The angst, on the other hand? Still haven't covered that yet, and I want to address Piper's situation a lot more. Anyway, I hope this chapter was all right. I'm a little self-conscious, because it's quite sensitive material, but I hope it passes.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

* * *

 

You lose track of time, slipping in and out of consciousness. There are no dreams; nothing. Each time you awaken, you feel worse –– you feel dirty, poisonous. As each second passes, you're colder. You sometimes think Piper is talking to you, but you're never entirely certain. You're never entirely certain about anything. Somehow, you've moved from the settee to the bed. There's probably an extra blanket around your frail body, but how can you tell? It may have always been there.

Occasionally, you hear the boy. He doesn't cry as much –– or, perhaps you don't notice anymore? He laughs, too. Giggles, and he's cute, he makes you smile, which is silly. You're sick, you can't move, and you catch yourself smiling at the thought of him. Someone comes to visit you. Someone you haven't seen in months, more than a year. Your mother asks why you're still in bed, and you shrug, because you honestly have no idea. Why don't you stand up, move around? She grins crookedly, ruffles up your hair as always, and calls you a "slacker", a "lazy shit", but she adores you anyway.

Soup.

There's the smell of soup in the air. You open your eyes. Move, and it hurts. You wince, and feel Piper's hand caressing your cheek, and you can't see her very well. You squint, struggle to sit upright, and she doesn't stop you. It's bright, morning maybe. Afternoon. You can't tell. Piper is holding a bowl of soup, tomato soup, and you don't think you can stomach that. There's a glass of water waiting on the bedside table, and you feel soothed when Piper presses a palm to your forehead, mutters something.

'How are you?'

Wow. What a question. You smirk. 'Peachy.'

'You've been out for three days.' She sounds relieved, but worried. 'I started to think you'd never wake up.'

Three days. Holy shit. 'What, uh...' You remember thrashing around the kitchen, tipping over the table, going berserk, and your cheeks burn. Not in embarrassment, or humiliation. You feel guilty. Worse than guilty. You look at Piper, and neither of you speak. There isn't much point in apologising. She knows you didn't mean what happened, but you don't deserve forgiveness. 'Pipes.'

You think the mother thing suits her all of a sudden. You think she'd make a good mother, and you kind of envy her for that. She's nice, affectionate, and even though she can be childish, naïve, she is better than you. Piper has matured, she's matured so much, and you haven't changed a bit. You're cruel, manipulative, deceitful, and it makes sense why she left. The anger you originally felt has evaporated; you drown yourself in this horrid, ugly loathing, and you can't climb up to the surface.

The way she looks at you right now –– you can't stand it. She's silent, but her eyes –– fantastic, blue, bright, filled with this hope you can never grasp –– say everything. She hates to see you this way. You, in this state, has effected her tremendously. You don't know for sure what you've done, how you've behaved, what you've said. You don't want to know. You don't want to know if you've hurt her again. Hesitantly, you slide your hand over to hers, and she responds, holding your hand tight, secure.

When you see your mother again, young, oblivious about your health, leaving the room, you slump your shoulders. She's vivid, she must be real. You can hear the sound of her heels  _click_ ing against the floorboard, and she calls your name, asking if you want the porridge and chocolate buttons you always loved as a kid. You chuckle, and Piper frowns. It's rude to not answer your mother, but even if she is real, alive, you know she isn't. You know, for a fact, she's gone. She's dead.

Piper's grip on your hand hardens. Her eyes are attentive, and she's patient today. You both sit, enjoying each other's company, even if it's in silence. How it always used to be. You remember how you both used to lie together when you had the day off, usually in the quiet. It was nice. It was always nice. When work wasn't in the way, when it was just you and Piper –– those moments were,  _are_ , special. When the drugs weren't involved, even though they've remained a dominant part of your life.

It's sick, but you can't imagine a life without them.

'Pipes.'

'Yeah?'

'My mum just left the room.'

The blonde raises a brow, and turns towards the door. Then back at you. 'Really?'

'Yeah.'

Maybe she's sympathetic, maybe she's scared, or maybe she's playing along. A small smile graces her lips, 'Tell her I said "hi". Although, she probably hates me now.'

'I don't think she does.' Your mother reappears, leaning against the doorframe, smoking on a cigarette, watching the two of you. She's smiling in a funny way, the way she used to smile when she saw you hanging around someone you had a thing for. It was a smile she wore constantly when Piper was around. It's all in your head, but it's hard to believe that when you're looking right at her. Piper follows your line of vision, but doesn't see her, even though she's obviously there.

You begin to feel nauseous. This intermission doesn't last. Everything comes rushing back, and you hate it. You sigh heavily, and pull your hand out of Piper's. She comes a little closer, offers a spoonful of soup. You think it's wise to have some, just a little, so welcome the liquid. It doesn't taste too bad, but it's hard to swallow. You groan once it's gone, and Piper smiles, slightly amused. 'Two more.'

'No,' you whine.

'Just  _two_. I'll let you hold Daniel afterwards.'

'Who the fuck's––?' You stop. Look at her, and even though your heart is racing, your head is heavy, and your body is gasping for heroin, you have to smile. A soft smile. Weak, but genuine; it's effortless. 'You named the kid Daniel, eh? Not bad.'

'Middle name's Alex.'

'Oh.' You laugh. 'Strong name, that. Nice choice.'

'I know.' She grins. 'You approve?'

'No complaints here. When did you think of the name?'

'Last night. I was watching you while you slept.'

'Well, that just gives me the creeps.'

'Shut up. I was making sure you didn't have a fit or anything.' She stirs the soup, doesn't look at you, but she's smiling still. 'I didn't name him after anyone. I don't think anyone in my family is called Daniel –– not anyone that I know of, at least.'

'What about the Alex part?'

'Oh,  _that_?' She shrugs. 'Wasn't influenced by anyone, either.'

'Uh-Huh.'

'Not my fault you have a boy's name.'

'It's a girl's name too, Chapman.'

'Right. Of course it is.' She serves you another spoonful of soup. This one tastes revolting, and you squirm. She sniggers. 'I was thinking Alexander originally, but I thought Daniel Alexander Chapman was a bit of a mouthful. Plus, he might get bullied for the posh name.'

'Alex is far more superior.'

'Sure.'

'He's gonna hate you for calling him that.'

'Yeah...' Piper shrugs again. 'He'll get over it. You can imagine the bullshit I got for my name.'

'You're not the only idiot who thinks Alex is a guy's name.' You roll your eyes. 'Kids suck. People used to ask me if my mother thought I was a boy, so called me Alex. Not the brightest bunch.'

'Pied Piper was a common one.'

'We would have been pretty good friends back then.'

'Freaks.'

'Nothing's changed.'

'Nope.' Piper leans forward to bring the spoon to your lips. 'Open wide.'

You refuse. 'I can't have anymore. I'll hurl––'

'Just one more. Then, you can hold him.'

Reluctantly, you have the last spoonful, force it down your sore throat, wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve. Piper sticks to her promise. She places the bowl to the side, and the excitement about seeing the child outweighs the nausea and frustration building within you. Sleeping for three days has helped a lot; you hope the worst has passed. You really, really hope. Your mother has disappeared again. You run a hand across your forehead, and you feel nervous, paranoid.

But maybe this time you're not suffering withdrawal symptoms. Maybe you  _are_  nervous and paranoid. You remember how the child –– Daniel –– looked at you the other night. Petrified at seeing you so––  _mad_. You're worried he'll see you and burst into tears. You're worried you've ruined the trust you both share, this innate connection you both seem to possess. You want to see him, though; you want to see him before the symptoms become unbearable. You don't have long, but you're not going to waste what you have.

Piper returns. The baby is awake, and your heart jolts. Without realising, you straighten, outstretch your arms and Piper gives him to you. He doesn't cry. And you're relieved. Fucking  _relieved_. He doesn't cry, and he recognises you, and that––  _that_ ––  _this_... you don't have words to describe how you feel. You're not as strong as usual, so have to lay him on your lap, your arm holding up his head, and you cradle him, and everything's fine. He sucks on his dummy, blinks, topples his head to the side to see his mother.

You already feel a little better. Just a little.

'He's missed you. Been crying quite a lot.'

'Don't blame him. I'm obviously such an influence.'

Piper gives you a look. 'You're such a cocky  _a-hole_ , I want to smash your face in.'

'I speak the truth, Pipes.'

'You speak BS, too.'

'Your mum's so mean to me.' You don't expect a response from the baby, but he's watching you, fascinated, and you can't help but think he understands. 'Maybe we should ditch her, and run away together.'

' _Ha_ ,' Piper smiles sarcastically. 'You don't even know where the nappy goes, Alex. You'd be lost without me.'

It's a joke, but your smile falls. For some reason, you feel offended, insulted, and Piper seems to realise her foolish choice in words.  _You'd be lost without me. You'd be lost without her_. They are heavy,  _puncturing_  words, and you agree. Yes. Yes, you would be lost without her. You  _were_  lost without her. Completely lost. So lost you turned to drugs, you turned to an illusion. She catches on –– you feel uncomfortable, something's wrong, and she takes Daniel away, but as soon as he's in her arms, vomit explodes from your mouth. Daniel bursts into tears, and the crying fades as Piper leaves the room.

Fuck.

Oh,  _fuck_. You aren't better. You're far from better. Groaning, you just have to smell the sick to throw up again. You hate this; you want it to stop. Piper comes hurrying back, grabs a bucket she must have placed in the room before. She holds it beneath you, but you think you've stopped. Nothing happens for a while. You twitch, crane your head back. The bucket is dropped. Piper drapes the blanket over your shoulders. You shrug it off, and it slips. Piper sighs, and throws the blanket over you again.

She's just looking after you, taking care of you.

But her insistence is irritating. You wish Daniel didn't have to see that. Poor baby.

'I'll clean this up.' Pipes leaves.

You shuffle further into the bed, cling to the blanket, shivering. You want to go back to sleep, you want another intermission where you can smile, laugh and hold the child. But you're ill, your pulse is racing, and you're certain you have a temperature, even if you're freezing. You see your mother sitting on the corner of the bed, eyebrow raised, 'Cute kid. Is he yours?'

'Very funny,' you mutter.

She smiles. 'I think he likes you. That's a first.'

' _So_  funny.'

'What is?' You see Piper returning, a bowl of hot, soapy water and a flannel. She gets down on her knees, and you wince, because you can't let her wipe away your mess. How awful. How selfish of you. Piper has a baby to look after. She doesn't need to look after you as well. But when you start to move, Piper instantly pushes you back. 'You're sick, Alex! Stay in bed; don't be so stupid.'

'I need to help you––'

'I'm  _fine_.'

She's angry, and her eyes are a hurricane, blue waves crashing together, a sea of agony. You look away. Stabbed through the heart. Piper is furious. She's not smiling anymore. She's angry. Fucking angry, and she wipes away your vomit in less than five minutes. Furious. Furious. You can  _feel_  her rage. Before she leaves again, you have to see her face, you have to talk to her, you have to know  _why_. Why is she so mad all of a sudden? You don't like her mad. She doesn't get to be mad.

You reach over, pull at her sleeve. She resists, you pull harder, stand, and the bowl tumbles to the ground, smashes apart and she's crying, tears trickle down her cheeks, and you force her into your arms. Piper inhales sharply, her face pressed against your shoulder, and she shudders, holding you so fucking tight, clinging to your top,  _clinging_ , hanging on to whatever is left of you. She won't stop crying. Quiet sobs, but it's aggressive; Piper only cries when she's upset, miserable, when she's at a loss.

Then she calms down, recovers–– 'This is my fault.'

It's draining everything out of you to keep holding her, to remain standing.  _She_  is what keeps you up. 'What?'

'The drugs––' She pulls away, but continues to hold your top, and she can't control the tears leaking from her eyes. '–– _this_ ––' You have wanted her to see fault for months, wanted her to suffer, wanted her to endure the same pain as you, but, right now, you want anything  _but_. No. No. No, Piper should not feel guilty. It  _isn't_ her fault you took the drugs, she didn't force you; that was your decision. That was your stupid decision because you are needy, dependant and fucking  _pathetic_. '––you.'

However, you haven't seen yourself. You don't know what you look like. You don't know what the drugs have done to your appearance, what the withdrawal symptoms have changed. You don't know. Piper angrily rubs her sleeve over her eyes. She wants to stop crying, but she can't, and you want to hold her, hug her, tell her it's fine, you don't care, as long as she stays, you're okay, but you can't.

Loving her was the biggest mistake of your life.  _Is_  the biggest mistake.

But, fuck, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Piper can only see the damage she caused. She doesn't know she is the remedy. She can't see that, and you're  _dying_ , seeing her this way  _ **kills**_  you. 'I––' She holds back a sob, struggles, '––I called you because I didn't know who else to call, and you've––' You try to hold her, '––ever since  _you_ , I've changed so much, and now, nothing's the same. I can't talk to my family the way I used to–– they're just...  _you've ruined everything for me_ , Alex, and it's like I can't––' She shakes her head in disbelief, '––I don't know how to live without you.'

Oh.

'––I  _had_  to see you. I  _had_ –– I know I had no fucking right to call you after leaving you, but I––'

'Piper––'

'––you're all I've got left. I tried to––' She bursts into tears, and you're stunned; you can't move. You don't know what to do. '––I'm such a fuck up.' Trembling. You're trembling, and you can't  _breathe_. You want her to stop. You can't take anymore, but you can't speak, you are speechless, voiceless, mute. 'I want to help you, because it's the least I can do; I'm trying to help you and I–– I'm just fucking scared all the fucking time. You're so good with Daniel, and I'm fucking useless and I––' She's angry, frustrated, '––I don't want you to–– I don't want you to die.'

Stop,  _stop,_ _ **stop**_.

Finally, you're able to move. You have to embrace her, keep her as close as possible, but no matter what you do, she isn't close enough, and it's a mistake to hold her, because she starts crying again, and you can't stand hearing her cry, it breaks you––  _it's fucking breaking your heart all over again_ , and your body can't take this. It can't take this. It can't take her.  _You_  can't take  _her_.

 _Hold me tight. Never let me go_.

You let her cry.

You let her  _destroy_  whatever sanity you have left. You give her  _everything_.

 **I don't want you to die**.

'Alex, I'm sorry–– I'm so––' Your top is stained with her tears, and you're so  _weak_. '––sorry.'

 **I don't want you to die**.

'I'm not––' You can't speak very well, you can't  _hear_  yourself. '––I'm not gonna leave you, Piper.'

There's nothing more to be said. All you can both do is wait it out. For minutes, hours –– you don't know how long –– you hold each other, and you can't seem to address everything she's confessed. So much in so little time. Your brain can't take the amount of information, your mind can't settle. You feel as if you're going to throw up again when Piper eventually loosens her grip on you. You wipe away a stray tear with your thumb, and she looks up at you, fragile, innocent, and everything you adored and loved. She's sorry. She left, and it was a mess, and she regrets her decision, but it was all a mess.

Piper leans in suddenly, as if to kiss you; you've already lost your breath, and her eyes close slightly, wanting this, you, but she stops. She can't. She moves away, confused, beaten, helpless. The sick is cleared away. You need to return to bed, you need to sleep, heal a little more. You don't know what happens next. You close your eyes, maybe doze off, open your eyes. You're sweating, out of breath, and you fall asleep again. You drink water at one point, and you're not sure if you're dreaming it.

Once you hear her words ––  _ **I don't want you to die**_.  _ **I don't know how to live without you**_.  _ **You've ruined everything for me**_. –– you're awake. There's something heavy resting on your chest, and it's still, silent. Daniel is comfortable atop of you, sleeping, mouth ajar. You place a hand on his back, and you instantly feel relaxed, tired, but relaxed. He doesn't stir. He's content to sleep on you, and you're not sure if you simply feel better, or if he is helping. You think the latter. He's warm, soft, and smells like baby. You kind of like that. You kind of like that a lot. You don't see Piper, just her son.

Sleeping.

Resting.

Happy.

'You should definitely keep him,' your mother says, stroking the baby's head gently.

He doesn't stir. You watch him, feel your eyelids begin to close, and you glance at your mother. She's aged a little from when she stood in the doorway; she's the way she looked when she died. You want her to stay, and she does, and your head falls back against the pillow. It's the last time you see her, and you fall asleep again, the baby safe in your embrace.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

* * *

 

Thirty eight missed calls. Twelve texts. Seventy two emails. This is what happens when you don't work for six days, and you know your boss is going to give you a good, harsh scolding. Usually, this would bother you. Work is your life; you're obsessed. But, at the moment, you hate the thought of it. You switch off your phone, ignore the emails, and forget everything. You're a lot better, however you still struggle to eat and drink, to stand and walk around. Your limbs ache and you're weak.

It's very early. Five in the morning. You're quiet as you escape the bedroom, have a long shower, dry yourself and get dressed. You haven't felt this clean in days, and you aren't cold. Not as much. You pull on pyjama trousers, a v-neck top and drape a blanket over your shoulders as you prepare coffee in the kitchen. The aroma of caffeine wakes you up, but you instantly regret making it. You can't stomach coffee, not yet. Your tummy makes a funny noise as you switch off the kettle.

A little too late, you realise it's dark outside. Very dark. It's the morning –– it shouldn't be this dark. You glance at the clock on the wall, and widen your eyes. It isn't five o' clock. It's half past twelve at night. You don't know why this effects you so much. Your sleeping schedule is  _fucked_. You're  _devastated_. It's such a simple thing, but you're distressed. Half past twelve? Seriously?

'Mm, is that coffee?'

You turn, and see Piper hovering in the doorway. 'Yeah.' Picking up the mug, you say, 'Want it?'

'A bit too late, don't you think?'

'Fuck the rules. Have the coffee. Go wild.'

You exhale heavily. The withdrawal symptoms continue to linger. Your chest feels heavy, and you're flushed, but the nauseating sensation has ceased, and you're no longer sweating or shuddering. Piper takes the coffee, and sits on the counter, sipping it. You both settle in silence. There's a baby bottle that needs washing up. You need something to do, so you attend to the chore. While you wash, you remember Daniel keeping you company while you slept, remember Piper's outburst. Remember every second.

A scar in your mind.

'I've been trying to set up Daniel's cot.' You look at Piper, brow raised. 'It's starting to look more like a cage.'

'Aren't they technically cages anyway?'

'No. Anyway––' She runs her finger around the rim of the mug, and you realise she's a little shy, hesitant, uncertain, '––want to help?'

'It's midnight.'

' _Go wild_.'

You have to smile. There's no chance you're going to sleep again, so you may as well. Piper leaves the coffee while you both proceed to the spare bedroom. A small bed is inside, which Piper hasn't tidied after sleeping in. Daniel lays right in the centre, spread-eagled, asleep. 'Such a hard life,' you roll your eyes. Piper smiles crookedly, but doesn't say anything.

Pieces of the cot are scattered across the floor, alongside an instruction manuel. You pick up the manuel, flick through. Easy instructions, all to the point, and you honestly can't be bothered to follow them. Assembling a cot –– should be simple, right? You fling the instruction manuel to the side.

'Alex, what the hell?'

'I don't need instructions. Got a screwdriver?'

'Yeah, you need one of these too, genius.' Piper picks up an Allen Key. You take it, and admire her work.

'You've already –– sort of –– done the mattress base.'

'Thank you.'

You stand, staring at the half-finished cot, then kneel down and take the next piece you think fits. Within a few minutes, you both seem to get into the swing of it. The rods aren't too hard to place, and neither are the bolts. In fact, you're surprised at how easy this all is. Heck, Daniel could do it. When you're done, you look at your masterpiece, but something seems off. Piper cocks her head to the side, and you realise the cot is wonky. The base is too high.

Piper smiles sarcastically. 'Good job. The cot is upside-down.'

'I know that.'

'Oh, of course. You know  _everything_ , right?'

No, that wasn't intentional. The tips of your ears burn, and you look at her. Return that fucking sarcastic smirk, 'Shut up, Piper.' You're out of insults and witty remarks. Piper wisely grabs the instruction manuel, and together you briefly skim through it. Piper points out where you went wrong, and the mistake is fixed quickly. Soon, the cot is assembled,  _the right way up_ , and you fetch a sheet and pillow for Daniel to lay on. Piper picks up her son and gently places him inside, before lifting the barrier.

Much better. It's good to see the baby in a cot instead of a bed –– you feel as if he's more  _at home_. Not just a visitor in a stranger's house. This is how it should be, how you want it to be. How you wish it would be. You don't know if Piper may up and leave anytime soon. If she may find a place for just she and Daniel, and that's okay if she does; she's allowed to go. She doesn't have to stay. But watching the kid, you want her to. You want them both to stay, because you're scared what may happen if they don't.

It's selfish. Purely selfish why you want them to stay with you. You're frightened you may resort to the drugs again, you're frightened everything will fall apart, you're frightened of being  _alone_. You want Piper to stay with you. Even after everything, you want her to stay, but you can't voice that. You can't. It's too much to ask for, and you know, for a fact, there is nothing between you two anymore. Piper left you, walked away, and she never stated she wanted you back.

Really, you don't know if you want her back either.

'You have your bed now,' you say, and you don't look at her. Instead, you collect the the screwdriver and Allen Key, store them away. Then you leave the room. As if you're avoiding her, avoiding the truth, avoiding the fact you still love this woman and, maybe, you love her child too. This is fucked up. Wrong. You return to the kitchen, flick on the kettle even though you don't want anything to drink.

All you want is something to do, a distraction. Because this whole thing is bugging you. These thoughts that Piper and Daniel will eventually leave are taunting. You can't be with them, you can't have them –– for so many fucking reasons, they cannot stay. What's shocking is that the only reason you quit the drugs was because of them, you quit  _for_  them. You put yourself through so much hell for  _them_. For Piper, for the kid. Damn it. What was the point? What was the fucking point?

There are footsteps approaching the kitchen. You're mildly surprised Piper has followed you, and, somehow, your relationship with her has transformed into episodes of silences. But it's not an awkward silence, not the type of silence which is discomforting, which is empty. These silences are  _filled_. These silences are heavy and overbearing, these silences hide the whispers slowly pulling you both apart. Piper wants to talk to you. She still has so much to say, but you don't think you can handle anymore words from her.

You don't think you can handle anymore tears. Anymore dread, anymore nightmares. These past few days have been your worst –– it's amazing you're still breathing. It's amazing Piper has stayed. And that's it: Piper stayed. You must have said so many horrible things to her during the withdrawal, done horrific things, but she never left. She didn't leave you. Maybe it's the baby who's done this to her, but Piper is different; Piper is different, but still very much the same.

Someone needs to speak. It's bizarre; you both need to find an excuse to stay in each other's company.

'I got a job.'

Eyebrows raised, you look at her, 'Oh.'

'I'm still on maternity leave, but I'll start work by the end of next month.'

'Doing what?'

'Secretary work. Nothing exotic.'

'It's something.'

'I should borrow your glasses, then I'll definitely look the part.' You're happy for her, pleased. Piper is coping with what she has. She found a job, she's succeeding, pushing through. 'Once I have enough money, I'll find a place. Then you can return to... whatever it is you were doing.' The nausea returns, but for an entirely different reason. 'Thanks for helping, Alex.'

You're angry, hurt,  _upset_ , and you're not sure if you feel this way about her, or about yourself. You fucking coward. Just tell her. Tell her how you feel, tell her Piper and Daniel can stay longer, they can stay as long as they want. And, maybe, you'll quit the cartel, get another job. You'll change too. But you consider that, consider changing your career, abandoning the drugs, and you know that is impossible. You can't change that much. You've lived your whole life following your own rules.

Never have you changed for anyone.

And you won't change for Piper. Not for her. You can't.

Piper can read you like an open book. It's a curse. She knows she's hurt you, but what can she say? It's time you faced the truth. Piper remains at the opposite end of the room, arms folded, and she's like stone. She's tense. Confused. Frustrated. You want to apologise profusely, and you don't know what for. She doesn't trust you. She still doesn't trust you, and you don't trust her either. What you feel for her is undeniable, it's possessive, controlling,  _awful_ , but you can't trust her.

You hate her for leaving. Again. You hate for becoming a mother, for taking responsibility, for thinking about her child's needs above her own. You hate her for being better than you. You hate her for mastering adulthood, motherhood, and you hate her because she has to leave you, and she doesn't have a choice. You may adore the child, may love the child, but that amounts to nothing if you can't look after him. Your career is wrong. Piper knows better than to invite her baby into such a corrupt family.

Because of  _ **you**_ , Piper cannot stay.

'Is it true what you said?' You're trying ever so hard to not let your emotions show, but your voice cracks, it betrays you and Piper stiffens. She's quiet for a long time. She doesn't look at you. You can't look at her. She knows exactly what you're referring to.

 _I don't know how to live without you_.

Piper sighs. She can't do this. You can't do this. It's late.  _Too late_. 'Yes.' Now, the silence is harmful. The silences  _are_  empty spaces. You turn away, run a hand through your hair. Your pulse is racing. You  **hate**  her. 'Alex, I'm sorry. I can't stay with you.' There's no effort in her voice; it's weak, fragile. She's exhausted. Exhausted with you, with Daniel, with the drugs, with herself. She's tried and tried and tried. 'We can't stay with you. You––' She has to stop, because maybe seeing you this is too much to bare. '––You know why.'

'I can't believe this is happening again.'

'I can't let him stay here. I was stupid enough to follow you everywhere before, but I'm not risking his life too.'

'So, you were stupid enough to love me, is that it?'

'That's not what I said––'

You turn on her, furious, raging, 'Know what's funny? You haven't even asked me how I feel yet. You don't even know if I'm considering quitting my job. You don't know anything.'

Piper isn't willing to argue. Her voice is soft. She's already won the battle. 'I know you won't quit. You choose the drugs. And that's okay. That's okay –– I want you to live the way you want, but I refuse to get hurt again. I refuse to let Daniel into your life if you––' Your heart stops. '––If you throw everything away.'

'You're gonna fuck him around too?'

'Excuse me?'

'You can't just let him form a bond with me, and then take him away. That's not fair, Piper.'

'Alex––'

'You've fucked me around, and now you're fucking him around? The fuck's the matter with you?'

'You are not his mother. We–– We never agreed on anything. I just needed you to––' She has to pause, because she knows how twisted this all is. How selfish she sounds, and you want her to feel guilty, you want her to suffer, realise what a  _bitch_  she is. But, at the end of the day, she's only looking out for her child. 'Alex, you've been amazing.' You scoff. You can't believe this. 'But he can't stay with you.'

'What do I, then? What do I do when you're gone? You don't get to do this to me!'

'I have to. How could you not see this coming? How––' Piper is starting to fight. 'What did you think was going to happen? That we'd live happily ever after or something? Why are you so  _ignorant_? Why are you so blind about what's right in front of you? Did you really think we'd stay, knowing full well you  _are a fucking drug dealer_ , Alex. That's not fair on Daniel. You know that.'

Everything she says makes sense, everything she says is logical, it's right. Wise. Sensible. But,  _fuck_ , you cannot believe this. You cannot fucking believe this. You're  _furious_ , so fucking furious, you can't  _breathe_. 'Fuck you, Piper. Just––' Angrily, you whack your hand into two plates and they shatter to the ground. ' _Fuck you_!' She flinches, presses further against the wall.

'Look at you. You're acting like a big kid!'

'You don't get to fuck me around––'

'Alex!'

'––and you don't get to manipulate me like that!'

'Sucks, doesn't it?'

'I hate you.'

Piper says nothing. You sound pathetic. She shakes your head, 'No, you don't.'

What's happened to you? You don't recognise yourself. You've become such a pitiful state. A wreck. No mother would want to stay with you. Fuck, you're such a mess. Such a goddamn mess. You lower lip quivers, and you hold back tears. You will not cry. You are not going to cry. Fuck  _her_. Because you don't hate her. You love her. You love her so fucking much, and every second is  _agony_. 'No.' You slam your fist into the wall, and give in. You forfeit. 'No, I don't hate you.'

Fuck.

The argument ends. There's nothing you can say which will change her mind. There's nothing you can do. The power you once held over this woman has vanished, and you're just a girl. Just a silly,  _silly_  girl who can't get what she wants. And, really, maybe  _this_  –– a kid and her –– is all you ever really want. You just went about it the wrong way, which is just something you  _would_  do. From the start, you've always tried to fix things and yet have only made things worse. It's a trait about you which can't be shattered.

Piper is closer. She takes your hand. You move away.

'I don't want things to end like this. You're twisting my words, Alex. I called you because I knew only you could help me, and I don't mean to leave you alone. I don't intend to repeat what I did in Paris –– but you've got to understand where I'm coming from.'

'I shouldn't have quit the drugs,' you say, and you ignore her expression, 'I shouldn't have quit the fucking drugs. Because at least I know they stick with me, whatever I do.'

'Do you even know what you sound like?'

'Do  _you_? Fuck, Piper, how many more times do you need to walk away until you actually  _walk away_? I never called you once when you broke up with me. Yeah, I guess I dealt with it the wrong way, but I never called you, texted you. I let you go. Why can't you let me go? Why did you come back?'

'I wanted to help you quit. I wanted to help you.'

'Well, when you decide to leave me again, don't  _ever_  call me. Don't come anywhere near me. I want nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with you or your bastard kid. You don't get to come to me wanting help, wanting support for all the fucked up things you've done, and you don't get to come to me with your guilt, or your need. You will not come to me again.  _Ever_.'

You regret every word.

'––and I never asked for your help.'

A blade clatters to the ground. One of you lets the armour slip, one of you can't fight anymore, one of you loses, and when you turn away, leave, you realise it's you. Everything tumbles apart, you feel your heart breaking again, again,  _again_ , and you slam the door when you enter your room. Like a child. Like a fucking child. You lean against the door, wait for a moment, and then it all comes  _rushing_. The abandonment, the loneliness, the very fact that no one wants you.

( _You are hated_.)

Why did you quit the drugs? They were all you had.

You move away from the door. The room is dark, forbidding, singing with sin and destruction. You're tempted.  _The drugs_. You're tempted. You thought the desires had passed, but they've returned with a vengeance, and you don't think you can tackle them this time around. You've lost the will to fight. You've lost your reason. If Piper truly does intend to leave (if you truly intend to never change your ways), then you have no reason to battle on. The addiction wins. The addiction has you, completely and utterly.

There isn't any point.

The door opens. Shuts. You hate to have your privacy invaded, and you turn, glaring at Piper in the darkness. You want to yell at her,  _scream_  at her, but when you open your mouth to speak, nothing happens. It takes you a moment to realise you've started crying. A sob which  _shudders_  through you; an angry cry, one you're desperately holding back,  _desperately_  keeping in. Because you cannot let her wound your pride, you cannot let her injure you again. You can't let her see you like this.

'Listen to me––' You refuse. You will not listen. Her hand captures yours, and you shove her back. She says your name, blindly reaches for you. 'You know I would choose you if I could!'

_If I could._

_If you'd let me._

_But you... Alex, you make this **impossible**  for me._

You know you won't give up the cartel. You doubt there's anything else for you out there. Piper doesn't have a choice. She can't stay. She can't allow her son to be victim to your cruel games. (But she's different, he's different –– they are different.)

'I'd choose you if I could.'

You stop struggling. You stop altogether. Her hand runs across your cheek, and she's sorry, and she knows this is fucked up, and she knows you won't change your mind. There's a long pause between you two, and you can feel her breath on your lips, can feel her  _thinking_ , hesitating, trying to cling to a part of you that will understand. That will forgive her. She came back to you for a reason, she stayed for a reason, and she has to leave for a reason. She just needs to get back on her feet first, and she expects you to trail behind. Following. Obeying.

Making up for all your bad deeds.

You don't know anymore if you hate or love her. You don't know anymore.

 _I'd choose you if I could_.

'... please, don't resort to the drugs again.' She knows exactly what you're thinking, what you're considering. She grabs your top, pulls, 'Alex––'

'What the fuck did I say to you?'

'I don't care.'

'Piper, get off me––'

'No.'

You attack, grab her wrists, squeeze, and she hisses in pain. You drag her off you, and yet you don't let her go. You don't want to. You don't want to let her or the boy go. They're all you've got.  _Don't leave me, too_. She yanks her wrist out of your grip, and you regret hurting her, regret everything you do. A second of silence. Then you release her. One of you exhales. Shocked. Instantly, she wraps her arms around the back of your neck, and presses her lips onto yours. Desperate, urgent, frantic, you both collide, and her tongue is in your mouth, wanting, needy––

Everything  _aches_  for her hands. You have to  _restrain_  yourself from ripping apart her shirt. It's all rushed, and there is a sense of terror as her palms smooth over your hips, up your tummy, and she gasps, moans when you kiss her neck, pull at her hair, bite down. She wants you, you want her. And nothing makes sense anymore. You've lost your dignity, your logic. All you see and feel is her, and your body is shaking, trembling at her  _scalding_  touch, her chest pressed against yours, and neither of you can  _breathe_ , you're holding each other so tight.

You think  _this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong_ –– but, fuck, fuck, you can't control yourself. You're lost. You  _need_  her. She is what keeps you alive, she is what stops you from  _killing_  yourself with the heroin, she is your anchor, and you're not going to last. You want her to know this. You want her to stay with you. You  _need_  her to stay, you must have her stay. Your kisses are violent, and she refuses to back down. It's a constant war between you two. Her naked body tumbles onto yours, and you're both blind by the lack of light, the toxic,  _disturbing_ , beautiful passion neither you or her can let go of.

She is marked by you. Stained by you. Touched, loved. Her chest heaves at your touch, at your tongue, lips, palms, and you take her to a place of ignorance, an oblivion of heat and fire; she is at your mercy, but you have no strength left in you to hold the chains. It all crumbles away.

It's hours later when she's still captive in your embrace and she says she loves you. Says she doesn't want you to die. She doesn't want you to vanish, disappear. She doesn't want you to fall victim to the drugs, doesn't want you to die. It's that simple, and yet her request has left you speechless, and you stutter for words, cling to her, and you wish things were different.

She's yours. She has always been yours.

And she doesn't hesitate in reminding you, showing you. Constantly.


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

* * *

 

Neither of you sleep, as if afraid the other may leave. You both hold each other possessively, protectively, selfishly, and you're incapable of letting each other go. Not this time. Not again.  _Not again_. Piper's arms are soft, warm around your middle; you rest on her chest, can feel her heart beating, beating, can feel her chest rise, drop, and her fingers run through your hair, slowly. It's a bright morning –– you don't know the time. You and Piper haven't slept, but you're not tired. You both stay awake.

It's too much to ask for ––  _this_. This perfection. Seeing her in the morning, during the day, at night. Having her as your own. It's too much to ask for. It's impossible. And she knows this too. You wish,  _you wish_ , this is real, this is possible; you wish she'd give you another chance. You wish your circumstances were different. You wish you never met Fahri, were never introduced to the cartel. You just wish you were normal, with a normal career; not addicted to drugs, not  _fucked up_  inside.

It's too much to ask for.

Maybe you're just meant to be alone.

Even if it's unbearable.

She's cut you, marked you as her own; she's embedded into you, and it's fucking terrifying. You need her to stay. You want her to stay. And she will for a few more days, but she'll leave eventually. Leave with her bag packed, with the child, and you won't see her ever again. Neither of you have discussed what happens next. It's as if you both no longer have to talk –– it's obvious this is it. You can pretend to be lovers, pretend to be happy, pretend to have this wonderful family, but it won't last.

Nothing good ever does, you realise. You're just a master at fucking things up; there's no point trying.

More minutes tick past, and you can  _feel_  your body losing energy; zapped out of you. With each second, she's closer to leaving. You like to believe you'd quit the cartel, but you know, for a fact, that such an action will have its repercussions. Disastrous ones, and you're too much of a coward to walk away. Piper is right –– the drugs are ruining everything good in your life. But she doesn't understand you have no options; you  _can't_  walk away. You simply can't. You are trapped.

It's not fair. It's not fucking fair.  _It's not fair_.

Last night –– earlier this morning, moments ago –– is a vivid fracture in your mind. Your skin is sore from where she's held you,  _clung_  to you, kissed you, and her gasps, soft breaths, tender lips –– everything another wound, another taunt, just another. No matter how close you were, you weren't close enough. You both lost sense, couldn't  _think_ ; no longer cared about what's right, what's good. Torture –– holding her to you, kissing her, your palms pressed against her breasts, mouth at her earlobe, neck, and she arches her back, giving herself to you completely; offering everything she's got left.

The small lump from her pregnancy had caught you by surprise. A reminder she isn't yours entirely; she can't be yours. Someone else –– someone more important, more deserving –– has her. You are a wreck, a disaster, a failure, and yet you have the audacity to make love to someone who's trying so hard to succeed, who's always tried: a mother, potentially someone's wife, a worker. You keep coming back, and you  _weigh her down_ , you  _stop_  her from reaching the top. You let her latch onto you instead, you blind her, manipulate her –– but not now. Not now. Now, she is in control of herself. She knows what she wants, what she needs.

You may choose the drugs. But she chooses her son. She chooses  _life_.

( _I'd choose you if I could_.)

Suddenly, you move a little, and she holds you tighter. She's chained you to her, tied the strings, and you refuse to go anywhere. You have nowhere else to go. You once had plans, had exciting paths to follow; you once led a life of mystery, of thrills and fun. You had plans to  _not_  plan. That's how you live; it's how you've always lived. It's why you are still able to smile. You never wanted the map, a map constructing which direction you should take next. You never wanted expectations. Never wanted the husband, never wanted the kids, never wanted the house, the nest, the happy,  _boring_  plan.

Now, though?

Shit.

Oh, shit. You want that. You want that  _badly_.

You want the map, the constructed life, and you want Piper and Daniel in it. You want expectations. You want to be a wife, a mother. You want what's best for them –– and you want to believe you are what's best. But you're not. You never will be. You don't deserve what they can offer you. You are unwilling to change, so why should they? Why should they give you happiness when you refuse to give it back? It's your fault. You became the dealer, the trafficker, the drug lord. You chose that.

If you could, though, you'd choose Piper.

She whispers good morning. It's anything but. Yet you both live this small period of ignorance, this moment when you can both erase the cartel, the truth –– you can both just live. And as much as you cling to that, at the back of your mind you're reminded again, and again, and again ––  _she isn't yours_. Don't fool yourself. Don't do this. Don't make this worse. You know you'll get hurt. You know your heart will be broken again. You know you're making a mistake when you kiss her.

You roll onto your side, and she turns to look at you. Her eyes are far too blue, so wide, filled with a childish innocence, love, and you fall for her all over again. Effortlessly. Over and over. It doesn't stop. You know you can never not love her. You belong to her. You always have. To spare yourself, you try to look away, but you can't. You can't look away. Does she have any idea how she makes you feel? What she's done to you? What she will do to you? Does she have any idea?

When she runs a thumb across your cheek, you remember how to breathe.

'I heart you.'

Piper frowns. 'You heart me? What, is that like "I love you" for pussies?'

You have to laugh a little, and she grins, because it may be the last time you both ever do. Reaching over, you twirl a strand of blonde hair around your finger. 'Say "pussy" again.'

There's an ocean of wonder in her eyes; the most beautiful sight you've seen, and you feel as if you've collapsed. You feel faint, unable to move, unable to do anything. You're lost. 'I heart you, too.'

A kiss. One kiss. A touch of her lips on yours; a truce, temporary solace.

Daniel is crying in the other room, and it's very hard to ignore. For some reason, hearing him lightens the mood, you find it easier to break away. Piper continues to hold you, and you smile a little. 'I'll get him.' The cold air is harsh against your body. You pull on boxers, a shirt, and head into Daniel's room. He's impatient this morning, red in the face, and most distressed, thumping his fists in the air. You smile, and you don't have to try. As soon as you're at the cot, lifting him up, he stops crying.

Satisfied, but he maintains a relatively grumpy pout, as if offended you didn't come sooner. You talk to him, comment that it's far too early to be awake. He isn't impressed. You raise him to your shoulder, and return to Piper. He stops pouting, and seems a little fascinated in the blue highlights of your hair. Softly takes a handful. Piper has thrown on a top, and meets you at the door. Daniel is happy to be transferred to his mother. He needs a nappy change, milk, and then he'll be back to sleep in no time.

Everything is normal. Natural. You help change his nappy, prepare warm milk in a bottle. It's all routine. One you are already accustomed to; one you'll have to shatter eventually. Daniel drinks the milk greedily while you hold him, and you think he's grown, but you can't be sure. Piper sits on the edge of the bed, hair a little wild, black rings under her eyes, but she still manages to look flawless to you. There's a faint smile on her lips as she watches you, and you can't stand to know what she's thinking.

It's good to not talk. You're both too afraid of arguing.

Of discussing the inevitable.

'I'm going to take him to see my parents today,' Piper says. 'But, I don't want to do that alone.'

She doesn't have to ask. You'll go with her. Questions will be voiced, lots of questions; you will not be liked, you'll be unwanted, but you're not going for her parents. You're going for Piper and Daniel –– the only two people who matter to you. Piper is dreading the trip, you can tell. It can't be more obvious. And you want to tell her so many things, want to tell her it'll be okay, but even you don't know about that. Everything is out of your control now; you cannot assume anything.

Without warning, Daniel turns his head from the bottle; he's had his fill. You raise him to pat his back, and it's all routine again. You face the window. Daniel hiccups. Piper moves to stand beside you, and Daniel soon drops off to sleep. You pass her son over. She holds him close, looks at you. 'He thinks you're his mother.' She pauses, turns to the window. 'You are his mother.' It's the last thing you want to hear. You've felt like his mother since you first laid eyes on him, but the connection you have with this child will disappear.

He'll forget about you.

All he'll have is your name.

Just a ghost. That's all you are.

You walk away. 'Alex.' Piper knows she's hurt you, and she didn't mean to. She knows what's wrong, she knows you wish things were different, and she wishes this too. But she doesn't want you upset. She doesn't want you upset, because seeing you upset makes her want to burst into tears. And the baby can't see you two falling apart. For now, you must enjoy what you have.

Stop at the door, lean against the wall. Piper and the child are an image in the sun.

'I'll go with you.' She sighs, relieved. '... but you must promise me you'll come back here. Just for a few more days.'

'I will.'

'You must promise to stay a little while longer, Pipes.'

( _You must promise not to leave me_.)

She blinks, says, 'I'm here.'

You're nothing but a mess of insecurities and fears. Guilty, anxious, nervous, you raise your glasses higher up the bridge of your nose. Try to smile, try to thank her, but you can't speak. She's here. This time, she isn't going to leave you. She won't abandon you. She's staying.


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

* * *

 

Lock the door. Strap Daniel into his baby seat. Sit behind the steering wheel. You see the baggie you left behind a few days ago, after the crash. The drugs. Enough left for one more high. Piper is beside you, frozen, and you realise her silence is her trusting you. She's trusting you to be rid of the drugs once and for all. Your hand is heavy as it holds the baggie. You remember the wonderful sensation, the freedom, the release it brought; how it made you block out everything horrible.

And you can't do it.

You tear the baggie apart and chuck away what remains outside. It's raining a little, and you watch the heroin evaporate, disappear. Closing the door, you sit, then finally turn to look at Piper. She's smiling, and she's proud, and maybe you're proud too. But you can't help but think –– why? Why did you bother? You'll be alone again soon. Piper says your name, reaches over and kisses you hard on the mouth.  _This_  is why you bothered. Even though it will not last, this is why you bothered.

The dread of what's to come ricochets through you, and you grab her arm, lean in for another kiss, and she senses your panic, your fragility, and it's clear she feels the exact same way. You want to tell her you love her. You want to ask her to never leave you. You want to ask her again and again ––  _stay_   _with me?_  You'll take care of her, you'll take care of the child. You'll take care of yourself. For them, you'll be a better person. But you're lost in her eyes again; you see you don't stand a chance.

Piper wants to stay. More than anything in the world,  _she wants to stay_. Yet, she can't. That is something you must embrace. You must embrace this fact before it's too late. You start the ignition, Piper's hand rests on your thigh; she squeezes.  _It's going to be all right_. Her parents won't like you. Won't recognise you. You will not be seen as Piper's lover, as the woman their daughter loved for more than three years. You are invisible, the invisible woman, and you are irrelevant. You'll simply pass through.

During most of the journey, Daniel is asleep. You and Piper talk –– talk about how long you both intend to stay at her parent's. Piper suggests leaving at around six, so by the time you and her arrive back home, it won't be too late for Daniel. You then discuss where Piper will live. She says she can't afford a proper house yet, but has her apartment, so will return to that when the time is right. You, secretly, consider giving her everything you've got: every penny in your bank account. You, secretly, giving everything up.

Then, Piper talks about you and her. Us. We. She asks how you feel, she says she's sorry, she says if things were different, she wouldn't let you go. At that point she stops talking because she has to cry. You focus on the road, but your heart rips in two. You tell her to stop crying. You understand why she has to leave, and you admit you wouldn't have it any other way. You don't want them involved in your illegal businesses anymore. You don't want to force them through anything. You can't put them in danger.

'I love you, Alex.'

You know that, but it's still shocking to hear. She loves you. Loves every fucked up part about you. There are no buts, no excepts, nothing. She loves you, and that's final. And it's awful. Tragic. 'I love you, too.' You can't look at her when you confess. You worry for a moment you may need to stop the car, but you continue driving. Just keep driving. Don't turn around. Keep going.

The atmosphere is heavy. Piper turns on the radio. One of her favourite songs is heard, and she latches onto this coincidence, this luck. She teases you, hums some of the lyrics and urges you to join in. You hate singing. And she knows that, so she pushes it. A very high chord is approaching, and you both burst out laughing at her failed attempt at reaching the note. But, as always, you both smile for a few minutes, then you are hit again with reality. Piper glances out of the window. You drive.

Arriving at her parent's home, you park the car. Piper unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to look at Daniel who's fast asleep. Then she looks at you, and her eyes are soft, warm. You consider staying in the car. You'd rather be a chauffeur than a stranger in a stranger's home. Piper hesitates. Maybe she's considering this is a bad idea. She knows how awkward the situation is. She'll introduce you to her parents, but they'll never see you again. You're just someone. Not the girlfriend, not the wife, not the ex, not the friend, not the mother.

You're just someone.

'If they say anything––'

'I know. It's fine.'

'You don't have to answer their questions.'

'I know.'

'You can tell them what you want.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'I just need you.'

A nod. 'Mm.' You know that, too. The only reason you're here is because of Piper and Daniel. Not for her parents. You can't care less about them. Together, you leave the car, and Piper suggests you carry Daniel –– you're not sure why. Possibly to send a message to her parents that you're important, that you do matter. Either way, you want to carry the boy. Want to hold him, protect him from the potential frowns his grandparents may offer. You want him to know you love him, even if they don't.

But you don't know Piper's parents. They may be overjoyed to see him. Daniel wakes up when you lift him. You give him his dummy, and his eyes are wide and curious as you and Piper approach the house. It's a nice house, not too fancy, and it's normal. The type of house you'd expect Piper's parents to live in. Piper fiddles with his jacket, wanting him to look presentable. You have to smile at her fussing.

'He looks perfect. Leave him be.'

She smiles back. Turns to the door, rings the bell. You exhale slowly. You're nervous, you already feel out of place; you have to keep reminding yourself that you're here for a reason. A good reason. No, you should not return to the car and drive away. Daniel needs you, Piper needs you. They won't need you again, so just take this opportunity while you can. Fight for it.

The door opens. There's a man. Possibly her father. He glances at her, the baby, you, back at the baby, then Piper. They hug suddenly, and words are exchanged; Piper introduces her son, then you. Her father barely acknowledges your presence, and is more interested in Daniel which is understandable. A woman appears. Possibly her mother. You don't know these people. They talk a lot, welcome you three into the living room. The woman says hello to you, shakes your hand; she's formal, polite, but you don't believe her sincerity. The father doesn't even try being nice to you. He wants to see his grandchild which you currently hold.

You are not welcomed here. Daniel is growing tense.

Piper's parents want to hold him. Piper looks at you, and you see there's fear, uncertainty. You don't know why, but when you pass Daniel over to his grandfather, you realise why she's scared, why she's uncertain.

Immediately Daniel screams, crying, struggling.

You feel a  _snap_. A tear. You nearly tremble in shock. You feel as if you've betrayed him, abandoned him. You feel a possessiveness, a strong urge to protect him, keep him safe. You can't stand him crying. His grandfather tries to settle him, but fails. He and Piper's mother find his behaviour sweet; he's just a baby. Babies just cry. They're unaware. Daniel doesn't stop crying until Piper forces a smile, and takes him from her mother. They don't mind. They expect the mother to be his favourite.

But he's still angry. Very angry. He still cries, and Piper, so naturally, so willingly, gives her baby to you. Daniel stops crying at once, settles, his tiny fist resting on your cheek as he scans what's around him. You hold his fist, press your lips to his head, ignore the frown Daniel's grandfather is throwing at you. His wife, on the other hand, continues to smile, gestures you and Piper to sit on the settee. Daniel sits on your knee, leans back against you, and he yawns loudly, and you only notice him and the woman sitting beside you. Her parents are there, but you don't care about them; they're just background.

Piper does the talking. She's caught on you're unwanted, and she makes it clear you are. She shuffles closer to you, and at one point takes your free hand, runs her thumb across your knuckles, but never once does she look at you. For a few minutes, they discuss the father –– his irrelevance. They then discuss Piper's new job, where her and Daniel will be living, if they intend to visit again sooner. Piper's mother makes a comment about the difficulties of having a child out of wedlock, and glances at you, and her smile is forced, patronising. You don't smile back. Daniel catches your attention when he starts to fiddle with the buttons on your jacket.

It's a long day, but it is mostly spent with words and long periods of conversation which you are not welcomed into. You volunteer to change Daniel's nappy at one point, feed him his warm milk, take him out for some fresh air. Their garden is small, a nice vegetable patch to the side. Daniel falls asleep in your arms. You're alone. You press him to you gently, and you try ever so hard to not think about the inevitable. You love him. You love him, and he isn't yours to take care of.

Someone has come out to join you. Piper asks how he is, you pass him to her, and he dozes silently in her embrace. Piper says nothing for a short while, but you know what's coming. Before she opens her mouth to speak, you cut through her, 'It doesn't bother me –– being the odd one out. You have no idea how many parents have not wanted me around the house.' You're trying to joke. 'Anyway, Daniel was keeping me company.'

'I don't care what they think.' Piper is watching you, and she's looking at you the way she does when she feels lost, helpless, guilty. It's a look you can't stand. One that begs for forgiveness. 'I wanted to get out of there more than you did.'

'If your father judged me even harder, I'd probably have disintegrated.'

Piper chuckles, and you do as well. You're suddenly teenagers again, idiots, but reality hangs above your head, and Piper's smile falls slowly. She's watching you, silent. All you see is her and the boy. This tiny, wonderful family you've built around yourself. The only two people left who love you. Piper's voice is quiet. Soft. 'I never got over you, which is ironic, considering I did the walking away. And I lied about his father –– he was just a one-night stand. I slept with him because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Which was obviously very sensible.'

'Obviously.'

'I left you because I was scared, Al, and your mother... It was bad timing. I knew if I stayed with you, even as a friend, we would have ended up back together again. I needed to stay away from you. I  _tried_  to stay away from you. I did everything I could to just forget about you, but I––' She holds back a cry. '––I was so fucking guilty. I was terrified, just... so fucking terrified about what you might do to yourself. I wanted–– I  _want_  to be strong enough to stay with you, Al, but I can't do this again.'

You're silent.

'I rang you because I knew only you would be able to help. And I also rang you because I had to see your face; I had to know you were still fucking  _alive_. I had to see you, Al.' She pauses, 'I wanted to be with you.'

You've got nothing to say. She can't hold back tears for much longer, and you come closer, hold her. You're numb; finished, done. And so is she. You are both done torturing each other, fucking each other over. You're both finished. There is nothing left. Piper isn't crying for herself, but for you, for Daniel, and she's crying about what a mess everything is; the fact you are giving her no option. You kiss her cheek, and she turns her head to kiss you deeply, making it perfectly clear how she feels, how confused she is, how nothing is making sense. Her lips break from yours, and she remains inches from your face, her breath tickling your nose, and she's struggling to fight everything in her which wants you back.

A decision is made. You will give up the cartel, but–– 'I'm turning myself in, Pipes.'

She stiffens in your embrace. She inhales sharply. 'No.'

'I need to turn myself in––'

'Alex––

'I can't quit, and I can't keep doing this. So, yeah, I'm turning myself in.'

'You'll go to prison.'

'I know.'

You realise what she's about to ask. If you'll both be able to remain in contact, perhaps write each other letters, but she stops herself when she realises the risks. Your boss is a beast, a monster, the most powerful man you know. You can't put her in that sort of danger. You can't communicate with someone he may potentially target. You're turning yourself in for Piper and the boy. This makes the two a perfect shot. After all, your boss does not like being messed with.

She kisses you again, grabs the collar of your jacket, and you're stumped.

There is nothing you can do.

After a while, you help wipe away Piper's tears, kiss her again, and again. Heal whatever wounds you can.

It's time to leave. You both meet Piper's parents inside. Farewells are spoken. Your hand is shaken, Daniel is in your arms again. You're happy to go, but once you reach the car, strap your child into his seat, you realise there is no time left. Piper won't stay with you for long. And you won't stay with yourself for long either. All three of you drive home in silence. Daniel rests, oblivious, and he's beautiful, perfect. Piper is still, staring out of the window. You reach the motorway.

Ten minutes pass. You're overwhelmed with emotion. You can't drive. Your vision is blurred. You turn off to the side, stop the car, pause, wait. Piper has already unbuckled her seatbelt, 'Alex, what's wrong?' A silly question. A stupid, stupid question. Your body is shaking, you cling to the steering wheel, and you consider driving far, far away with these two. With your family.

But you can't. You're stuck.

And that's when you finally cry. You aggressively shove off your glasses, wipe away the tears which freely fall down your cheeks, and Piper is confused, puzzled, she doesn't know how to respond. She's shocked, amazed. She places a hand on your shoulder, but that's not enough. You can't stop crying. She swears –– ' _fuck_ ' –– exits the car, runs over to your side, and pulls you into a rough embrace. She pushes you against her, and you want her to tell you it's going to be all right, it's going to be okay. You want her to tell you you are a good person, you are a  _good_  person, and you want her to stay.

She leans back a little, just to look at you, and she sniffs, because she's crying a little too. She kisses your cheek, your other cheek, nose, lips. Holds you. 'I'm not going anywhere.' A lie. The worst lie she can possibly voice, but you crave her every word. You're foolish, and you hear her, listen to her,  _trust her_. She doesn't stop holding you, kissing you, until you stop crying. 'Do you want me to drive?' She whispers, patient, waiting, loving. You shake your head. You must continue driving.

You must keep going.

The apartment is no longer your home. Just somewhere a stranger used to stay. Daniel is returned to his cot; he hasn't woken up since the journey back. You and Piper make a warm drink, talk. You both talk for a while, avoid what's really happening, avoid the fact the hours are ticking past. She kisses you, you kiss her. She helps you out of your clothes, you help her out of hers. You're both gentle, soft, patient, and she is beneath you, yours, as you are hers. It's quiet, and the emptiness of the room is broken occasionally with a small moan, gasp, whisper. Darkness shudders between you two, promising, cruel, cold.

Later, when you're half asleep, she touches you, and asks, '––why do you always feel so inevitable to me?'


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

* * *

 

The park is your favourite place to be right now. Daniel loves the sandbox, loves the toy truck you bought him the other day. Occasionally, he chews on a tire, on the plastic, but he's a good boy. He stops when you tell him to. However, he gets into such a state when you take the truck away from him. He continues to enjoy his milk warm, and he continues to enjoy being held by you. The clock ticks; each second passes one after the next. One after the next.

You work, but you're slacking –– your boss has noticed. Soon, you'll be in trouble, punished. You don't care. Sometimes, you help Piper with finance, help her find a home. You both finally find one: nothing too big, but nothing too small. A bungalow. Two small bedrooms, and a kitchen. She's worried she can't afford it, but you buy the house. You sell two of your properties, give her the money you receive. You don't want her to ask questions, you don't want to discuss your generosity.

Lately Daniel has become fascinated in your glasses. You let him hold them while you carry him around. He's so small, so young. He's a baby. He's nice, sweet, he's all you can ask for. You tickle him, and he giggles. You carry him, and he falls asleep. You feed him, and he's happy. You smile, and he smiles, and you wish it wasn't so easy to love the damn kid. But you do. Of course you do.

Everything is perfect.

Until it isn't.

One night, Piper looks at you and she isn't eating. Because she knows exactly what's on your mind. She knows exactly what's going to happen, and you're certain your heart stops because you have nothing. You have nothing. When Daniel is snug in his cot, you linger, and Piper goes to bed. She doesn't say a word to you. She's avoiding you, avoiding conversation, avoiding.

Another day passes.

Daniel is having difficulty moving house. It takes a lot to make him calm down, and he eventually settles once he has his toy truck and dummy. You help unpack Piper's boxes, arrange things how they should be, and you pretend you're moving in too. Piper is still not talking to you. You ask if she's all right, if she wants a coffee perhaps, and she shrugs, she doesn't answer. You think she's mad at you, so you're mad at her. You're mad at her because  _fuck all of this_.

It's unbearable. You feel sick. You leave the house, wander, and then head to the bank. You open an account, under the name of Daniel Alex Chapman. Then, you deposit everything you have into that account. Every single thing you've earned,  _everything_ , and you walk away, shoulders heavy, tired, close to giving in. You are finished, done. Your reign has come to its end.

You inform Piper about the bank account. She doesn't seem to care. She glances at the bank papers, then you, then walks away. That night, you kiss Daniel good night. Make sure he has his toy truck, his teddy, and he watches you for a while, as if afraid you'll leave. So, you stay. You lean against the cot, and his blue eyes start to close; he tries his best to keep them open. Until, finally, fatigue takes him over, and he's asleep. You don't move away until you are certain he's dreaming. You lean in to stroke his soft head, pause, and then you quietly approach the door, switch off the light.

It's late. Your limbs are sore. You can't breathe.

Piper is already asleep. You feel betrayed, hurt. You pull off your top, slip under the sheets, and you don't touch her. Don't speak to her. Don't wake her. You're still, and your mind is restless. Thought after thought attacks you. For the first time in your life, you've planned ahead. You've planned ahead and you have to follow through; you do not have a choice.

Tomorrow, you'll turn yourself in.

'––Alex?'

You hold your breath. Piper turns to you in the darkness. You can't see her face, and you think that's just as well. 'Yeah?'

'Are you leaving tomorrow?'

She knows. Of course. 'I am, Pipes.'

A long pause. She comes closer, you can feel her breasts pressed against your chest, and you wrap an arm around her hip. Your heart is racing, you're clammy, waiting for the worst. Waiting for her to argue, to snap at you. To hate you. But she's quiet, she is quiet for such a long time, you think she may have gone to sleep. You exhale, and she stirs, and she hasn't fallen asleep at all.

'When you leave, don't say good bye.'

_Don't say good bye. Don't wait. Just go. Because if you stay, if you linger, I won't be able to let you go. I won't let you go. Don't say good bye, because I won't be able to handle you saying good bye. Don't abandon me. Don't make me watch you walk away from my life. Don't say good bye._

'Okay.'

You will do whatever she asks.

Even if it kills you.

Your lips touch. Once. Piper pulls away, runs a hand through your hair, and kisses you again. It's slow, soft, and gradually, the kiss intensifies. Pieces of you tumble away each time her lips are pressed to yours. She stops suddenly, she's shaking, and you realise she's crying again. You hold her, as always, you hold her, and that's all you can do. Helplessly, you let her fall into your embrace, and everything is forgiven, everything is forgotten.

'Hold me.'

The night passes, and she manages to eventually sleep. You stay, and when the hour ticks, when your time is now, you leave.

And you don't say good bye.

* * *

 

It's the beds you hate most. The mattress is low, thin, and you don't rest easily. The inmates are tricky, but you, somehow, manage. You've found a friend –– Nicky Nichols is a messed up character like yourself. It's something you both share in common, but you don't tell her about Piper, and you don't tell her about your little boy. You don't say much at the end of the day.

Nothing happens.

Your sentence is long, you're stuck here, and each day you picture Daniel's face in your mind; terrified that, one day, you won't remember what he looks like. And as the months pass, you know he's growing, he's ageing, and he's forgetting. You, eventually, turn cold, stoic –– you lock away what you're truly scared about, who you love, who matter, the reason you're here.

Turning onto your side in bed, you run your palm across the wall of your cell block. Rough. Unfriendly. Tears well up in your eyes, and you scrunch them closed, but it's good to cry. You need to cry.

You think about your mother. Think about how calm and relaxed she appeared the last time you saw her in person –– lying in her coffin, and it's nice to think she's in a better place. She deserves that. You miss her, but you push through. You have to push through.

Then, you think about Piper.

It's three in the morning. You quietly leave the bed. The CO ignores you as you head for the bathroom. Alone. You feel abandoned as you pour water into the grotty sink, rinse your face. You want to be clean. Want to forget. Want to erase every memory you have.

You think about her smile, how bright her eyes are. You think about her kisses, her laughter, how soft and gentle she is, how warm she is to hold. The way she whispered to you at night, confessed she loved you ( _she always will_ ). You think about how happy she made you, how complete she made you. You think about how she left you in Paris, and how she came back. You think about Daniel. You think about your baby, and Piper, and you look up to see your reflection in the mirror.

_Why do you feel so inevitable to me?_

You see her, and him, so clearly.

They remain. They linger. They are a memory. A reflection. They are there as your reflection breathes, as your reflection falls apart, and as your reflection cries one last time.

Until it all shatters.

Gone.

* * *

 

end.

* * *

 


End file.
